


I Will Not Surrender

by burning_arrow



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Basically Richard is Dead Before Things Even Begin, But Definitely NO Actual Rape, F/F, I'm Not Down With That, Minor Character Death, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8457298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burning_arrow/pseuds/burning_arrow
Summary: Takes place several years after Tears. Kahlan rules over D’Hara and the Midlands, with Cara at her side, but behind the tentative peace lies a new threat.





	1. The Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary: Cara can’t shake the feeling that things are not quite as they should be – in many ways.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction, originally published on LiveJournal starting on 7/27/2013.
> 
> This is mostly grounded in the LOTS TV series canon, but borrows occasionally from the books where convenient. It also involves major characters of my own invention. If you don’t like this kind of mix and match please don’t read.

Cara remembers that day, when she was on bended knee before Kahlan Amnell, head bowed, hollowed out by fear, exhaustion and grief. She remembers the gasps around her as she entered the Mother Confessor’s Great Hall in Aydindril; how in spite of the deep slash in her side that burned, showing red and angry through her torn leathers, she had managed to hold her back straight and her head high as she somehow put one foot in front of the other. She remembers placing the Sword of Truth at the Mother Confessor’s feet, laying out her failure plainly for all to see.   
  
She remembers that it was not the Lady Rahl who went nearly mad at the news of her Lord’s death, but the First Wizard. She placed her agiels on the floor alongside the Sword of Truth and waited for Zedd’s fire. He had nearly done it too, one long hand outstretched towards Cara, face contorted in fury and pain, but then her eyes caught his, and he knew her guilt and sorrow were already burning her alive.   
  
She remembers that she was not afraid to die, but she was too frightened to look at Kahlan, standing so silent and still before the First Chair, like a statue carved from marble, cloaked in flowing white. She could not bear the recrimination she knew must be in those icy blue eyes. She had failed completely and utterly. Her Lord was dead, the Seeker lost, her friend was gone, and his wife and his grandfather were betrayed by her incompetence. She remembers wishing Kahlan would simply confess her and be done with it – so much better than the false calm. Then she remembers that Kahlan did the most unexpected thing. Without a word she approached the Mord’Sith and laid a warm, steady hand upon Cara’s bowed head. The Mother Confessor had no reason to extend her kindness, yet Kahlan gave it freely. She laid a hand upon Cara’s head and Cara trembled.   
  
There was no way to know then that a mere year later Cara would be trembling under her touch yet again. This time Kahlan’s hand rested soft and relaxed on the amber skin of Cara’s chest, Kahlan’s unclothed body tucked tight against Cara’s naked side. Kahlan’s head was nestled on Cara’s shoulder, her eyes closed in peaceful slumber, her thick, luxurious hair spilling over the arm that Cara wrapped around her protectively. Cara lay on her back, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling while the wan early morning sunlight of winter filtered through the southern windows. Her mind ordered her body to be quiet so she would not wake Kahlan, but her body would not comply. She trembled at the sensation of the other woman’s body pressed so close to her own and at the press of her own heart against her ribcage. The Mord’Sith was still not used to the powerful emotions that Mother Confessor evoked in her. And today it was not just love that swelled in her heart, but also sorrow for that day that ultimately brought them together. For today was that day. A year later, but that day none the less. Cara’s scar, stretched from armpit to hip, burned with the memory. She would have been tempted to rub it if it were not trapped under Kahlan’s body.  
  
Cara was surprised when she felt the hot prickle of unshed tears stinging her eyes. Mord’Sith do not cry. The last time Cara cried was as child being broken by the Mord’Sith as they turned her into one of their own. At least that was the last time – until that day one year ago. When Kahlan had placed that hand on her head, Cara’s resolve had momentarily shattered. Kahlan’s compassion had undone her in ways that no amount of pain or cruelty or deprivation could. She had broken down, sobs wrenched unwillingly from her throat while her body was wracked with all that had become too much to bear. She was on both knees by then and she was doubled over, her forehead touching the cold granite floor. Then she had done something that was almost as un-Mord’Sith-like as bawling like a child – she passed out.  
  
For a brief moment, the corners of Cara’s mouth turned upward at the memory, though she could still feel her mutinous eyes brimming. What a sight she must have been, Cara thought ruefully. Had the rest of that day not been so tragic the humiliation of collapsing like some swooning countess on a hot summer’s eve would have been almost humorous – almost. The half-smile slowly faded, but Cara pressed her free hand to her to her eyelids. The distraction was enough to push the tears away. She sighed.  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Cara looked half-startled at the clear blue eyes that met her own. Kahlan had awoken and somehow she had not noticed. Kahlan’s pale skin was smooth and free from worry, but the thin straight line of her mouth was not her usual morning smile.  
  
“Good morning,” Cara croaked. She cursed her voice for betraying her. With a bit more effort, she asked in a steadier tone, ”Did you sleep well?”  
  
“Always,” replied Kahlan. At last the beginnings of a smile crept onto the Confessor’s face, but her intense eyes bored into Cara’s. “Apparently you didn’t, though. Care to share what’s going on behind those beautiful but clearly tired eyes of yours?”  
  
Cara remained silent for a long minute. Her eyes returned to the ceiling as she mulled over her next words. She could not lie to Kahlan, yet she struggled to share her more intimate thoughts, even with her lover. Perhaps it would always be difficult after so many years of silence, but Kahlan had showed her that it was worth the effort.  
  
Finally she spoke. “I miss Richard.”  
  
***  
  
Kahlan had not expected that. A little stunned she said, “I miss him too.”  
  
These days it was not often that Kahlan thought of her one-time husband and friend. The ravaging pain that had torn through her when she had heard of his death had dulled to a subtle ache with time and now, more often than not, she could remember his warm brown eyes and broad smile with fondness and without the sharp twinge afterward. She knew today would be difficult, but she had no idea that Cara would acknowledge it like this. Cara’s inflection had been flat, but even uttering the words was an act full of meaning. They really had come a long way over the last year.  
  
Cara stiffened next to her. Kahlan sighed. So maybe they had further to go.  
  
“Do you…” Cara’s voice faltered. She shifted as if to move away from Kahlan. Kahlan moved her hand from the Mord’Sith’s chest to grasp her hip with a firm grip. She pulled Cara closer to her, resisting the tension in Cara’s body.  
  
“Cara.”  
  
Cara stilled at the commanding tone in Kahlan’s voice, but she would not look at her. She turned her head away from Kahlan, her blond hair falling across her face, completely shielding her eyes from the Confessor’s gaze. Confessors could not read the truth in a Mord’Sith’s eyes as they could with other people, but with Kahlan Cara still seemed to turn away when emotions ran too high, as if her every thought and feeling were transparent.   
  
“Cara,” Kahlan said again, her tone softening. “Please, love.”  
  
Cara refused to turn towards Kahlan and her response was barely a whisper. “Do you wish he were still here?”

  
Kahlan heard the unspoken questions. _Do you wish it was me that died that day, not him? Do you wish it was him in your bed and not me?_ The unsaid drove any last vestiges of sleepiness from the Confessor. She bolted upright. In an instant she had straddled the blonde’s hips and grabbed her chin with a firm hand, forcing Cara’s face towards her own.  
  
“Look at me,” she commanded, her voice taking on the imperious tone of the Mother Confessor of the Midlands and the Lady Rahl of D’Hara. Cara’s eyes snapped to her own without hesitation. In matters of the heart Cara might be reticent, but she was always obedient to her Lady. Now that she had Cara’s attention Kahlan allowed herself to relax slightly.  
  
“Do I miss Richard? Yes. Do I wish he was alive today? Yes. Did I love him and do I love him still? Yes. He was my husband, lover and friend and one of the most generous and gentle souls I have ever met.” Kahlan could feel Cara stiffen underneath her again and she brought her face closer to Cara’s, almost menacingly. “But you need to get it through that incredibly thick, stubborn head of yours that I love you. I don’t spend my days pining for what I’ve lost, wondering what might have been. Richard is gone and the Creator has seen fit to send me real love again. It’s you who I choose to be by my side, and you’re a fool if you think otherwise.”  
  
Before Cara could respond, Kahlan closed the distance between them, fiercely taking Cara’s mouth in her own. The kiss stole the breath from both of them as Kahlan’s tongue forced its way past Cara’s full lips. Cara growled deep in her throat. Kahlan knew this was a language that Cara understood.   
  
Cara’s hands grasped Kahlan’s hips, pulling Kahlan tight against her body and she began to rock her own hips, her stomach arching against Kahlan’s mound. Kahlan moaned loudly as she drew back from the kiss. She straightened up and she pulled Cara up with her, one hand grasping Cara’s shoulder, the other buried in the hair at the base of Cara’s neck. For a brief second Kahlan soaked in the sight of the Mord’Sith looking up at her with those heavy-lidded eyes, pale green turned rich emerald with desire. Kahlan bit her lower lip in anticipation. The next moment Cara took one of Kahlan’s breasts in her mouth, and Kahlan could feel Cara’s warm tongue swirling over the pebbled skin of her nipple. Kahlan gasped as Cara wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer while Cara’s other hand found her unattended breast. Waves of desire rolled through the Confessor, the pressure between her legs building.  
  
The knock at the door sounded like a sharp crack, though Kahlan knew it wasn’t really more than a quiet tap. Cara cursed incomprehensibly, her mouth still buried in Kahlan’s breast.  
  
“Yes?” barked Kahlan, more harshly than she intended. “What is it?”  
  
A timid voice replied from the other side of the door, “Mother Confessor, you asked to be awakened by the second candlemark after sunrise for the ceremonies.”  
  
“So I did.” She sighed. Answering a little louder, “I will be there in a moment. See to it that the kitchen sends tea and fruit to my drawing room.”  
  
“Right away, my Lady.” Kahlan and Cara could hear the light steps of the chamber maid making a hasty retreat away from the door. With a single finger under Cara’s chin, Kahlan tilted Cara’s head up, away from her sensitive nipple. Cara’s green eyes shown up at her with a mixture of lust, mischief and love – and disappointment. With a hand flat on Cara’s chest she gave the Mord’Sith a playful shove back onto the bed.  
  
“Don’t look at me that way.” She couldn’t help smiling at Cara, even as she scolded her. “You know today is important and when you look at me that way I start to forget my obligations. Though I wish I could spend the rest of the morning here, the people of D’Hara and Aydindril both need this day.”  
  
Adding in a more subdued voice, “And maybe you and I need it, too.”  
  
“Perhaps,” conceded Cara gruffly. Kahlan planted a quick but firm kiss on her lips and slid off the Mord'Sith's lap and out of the bed.   
  
***  
  
Cara felt the winter’s cold air rush in where Kahlan’s body had been and she shivered. As much as Cara wanted to disagree with Kahlan, she couldn’t. One of the most prescient acts Richard had carried out before his murder was to magically pass on to Kahlan part of his blood bond with the D’Haran people. He knew he might not always be around and if he died before producing an heir, the bond would be broken. The inevitable chaos would almost ensure that D’Hara and the Midlands would again be at war. In fact, his enemies had been counting on it when they trapped and killed him that day in that snowy pass on his way back to Aydindril from the People’s Palace. Much to their short-lived surprise the bond did not break – short-lived because the bond was also the source of power in Cara’s agiels. When Richard fell, the fire and pain still crackled and hummed along her agiels while she struck each one down in turn. Five men succumbed to the touch of the agiel, but still Richard could not be saved. Even the Breath of Life could not bring him back.  
  
Today was to be both memorial and celebration of Richard’s short rule. The D’Haran people needed to feel their bond renewed with their Lady even as they mourned the loss of their Lord, while the Midlanders needed to celebrate the life of the Seeker that had delivered them from tyranny and brought back to them the Mother Confessor. The peace was still tenuous after so many decades of strife and the two lands needed their Mistress to bring them together once again. Even Kahlan needed to remember and honor the man who had been her life for five years. But what did Cara need? How to reconcile the fact that while his friendship had given her so much, his death had given her so much more?  
  
Cara rose, her reflections making her uneasy, but they dressed quietly, the Mother Confessor humming softly to herself. Cara allowed Kahlan to help her with the bindings on her leathers, and she gently helped Kahlan into her black under skirt and corset, and then into the pure white Confessor’s gown. Her mind drifted again as she tightened the lacings of Kahlan’s dress, but Kahlan must have noticed the faraway look in her eyes. Kahlan laid a tender hand on Cara’s cheek.  
  
“I’m sure Richard would want us to go on living our lives, Cara. He would not deny us our happiness,” Kahlan said with certainty.  
  
Cara did not reply, and Kahlan, for once, let the Mord’Sith have her silence. Instead, Kahlan leaned in and her lips brushed Cara’s soothingly. She lingered for a few seconds, then drew back. She gave Cara a last wistful look. Then, setting her shoulders back and her head high, she became the Mother Confessor.  
  
“I have a few affairs to attend to before the morning ceremony. I want you to be by my side before the ceremony starts.”  
  
“Of course, my Lady.”  
  
Kahlan turned to go without a glance back, but her fingers held Cara’s until their arms could no longer reach. She would always be the Mother Confessor, but she needed Cara to know that she was also always Kahlan.  
  
Cara stood alone in the empty room, her eyes travelling over the familiar surroundings. While she surveyed the bed that Kahlan and she had shared for close to six months now her eyes fell on the Rada’Han on the nightstand. She picked it up and turned it over in her hand, as if examining it for the first time. So cold and ugly, yet Kahlan insisted on wearing it every time they made love, lest her magic be released and kill Cara. Cara’s grip tightened around it, the edges of the enchanted steel biting into her hand even through her leather gloves. Her face contorted for a second, and then she dropped the collar heavily onto the top of the nightstand. It landed with a solid, dead thunk. Kahlan may love her, but she knew Richard and Kahlan had never had to use the Rada’Han to be together.  
  
The next moment Cara was striding out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Her face was a cold, tight mask, unreadable and intimidating. The guards outside the ante room blanched at the sight of her but she seemed to take no notice of them. She might not understand the fickle ways of love, but she still understood her duty to the Lady Rahl. So she would do as she had always done – she would serve her Mistress.  
  
***  
  
The day passed quickly, far quicker than Cara would have anticipated. She stood just behind Kahlan, silent and stoic, but always within Kahlan’s reach. They exchanged no words, but they were always aware of each other. When one moved so did the other. Cara was the perfect shadow. Every now and then, between ceremonies or when there was a brief pause between the long stream of people clamoring to see the Mother Confessor, Kahlan would spare her a quick glance. Their eyes would lock and though Cara’s face registered no emotion, her heart would flutter a little in her chest and she was sure Kahlan knew. Once, after the morning ceremony in which Kahlan had given a long speech about the many accomplishments of Richard Cypher Rahl to the pilgrims massed outside the Palace, they had found themselves alone in the Great Hall. Kahlan’s shoulders slumped and she reached a shaky hand out, a hand Cara caught immediately. Soundless tears streamed down Kahlan’s cheeks and she allowed herself to be pulled into an embrace by the Mord’Sith. Gathering her strength, Kahlan rested her forehead on the cool, red leather stretched across her lover’s chest. A minute later as the first nobleman wishing to pay his respects entered, she sat upon the First Chair regal and gracious, Cara standing at attention beside her as if nothing had passed between them.  
  
Cara did not cry. She did not think. Her whole being was focused on the Mother Confessor. Days like this unnerved her more than most, when the Lady Rahl insisted on being among her people. Kahlan was never one to stay removed from those she led, but it made protecting her very difficult. Cara watched for any signs of trouble - her eyes constantly roaming from face to face, hand resting lightly on the hilt of her agiel - though there was none to find today.  
  
***  
  
Eventually the evening bells tolled, the last prayers and devotions were said, and the final remembrances made. The Great Hall cleared. After hour upon hour of people coming and going, Kahlan’s ears actually rang from the silence. Kahlan watched as her guardian cautiously checked each entrance to make sure it was secure before returning to the throne. Cara was always fastidious in her duties and though she was sure the Mord’Sith was exhausted from constant vigilance, she showed no sign of wearying. Kahlan’s breath caught in her chest when Cara’s eyes turned towards hers. Kahlan was always surprised how Cara’s eyes could transform from dead flat to untamed passion in an instant. Though her own throat was sore from overuse, she began to speak, but Cara simply placed a finger on her lips to quiet her.   
  
“Come with me,” Cara said in a low tone.  
  
Kahlan let Cara lead her back to their chambers, through the ante room and into the bed chamber, Cara’s hand always at the small of Kahlan’s back, guiding her. She poured Kahlan a glass of water from the jug on the small washstand near the window and Kahlan drank it down greedily, the cool snowmelt soothing her raw throat. Kahlan watched as Cara stoked the fire against the winter chill, her eyes playing over Cara’s strong back and shoulders while the Mord’Sith bent over the flames. She still had not said a word to this beautiful woman since leaving the room in the morning. So many times during the day she had desperately wanted to turn to Cara and beg her to carry her away, instead of being forced to share such private pain in such a public way. Cara, who always stood by, uncomplaining and unrelenting in her duty. Cara, who found little ways to show Kahlan that duty was not all that motivated her, whether it was the tea that showed up before she asked for it or the warm cloak that appeared just as she was getting a chill. But she was the Mother Confessor and today her people had needed the comfort of ritual more than she had needed her lover. Now, however, when she could finally speak to the one who she needed the most, her voice failed her.  
  
Instead she crossed the room and wrapped Cara in a tight embrace. Standing, Kahlan was a few inches taller than Cara and she placed fleeting kisses across Cara’s forehead and eyelids, then dipped her head lower to capture Cara’s mouth. She felt Cara’s arms encircle her and she was crushed against Cara’s body. They explored each other’s lips and tongues, first gingerly, then with more fervor. Kahlan kissed Cara almost desperately, struggling to convey the need she had for the Mord’Sith.  
  
***  
  
Cara was the first to break the kiss in order to catch her breath. Before she could take a second breath, Kahlan’s hungry lips were on her again. She grunted at the wild way in which Kahlan caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit down.  
  
Kahlan’s hands were soon at the fastenings on her leather, tugging viciously. Cara was surprised by the aggression in Kahlan’s actions, but that simply made them all the more arousing. By the time her leather was off and Kahlan’s dress lay next to it, pools of red and white mixing together, Cara could feel the wetness between her own thighs. Kahlan’s mouth devoured her own as she shoved Cara backwards toward the bed. They toppled together onto the furs covering the bed, limbs entwined, panting. Kahlan made her way down Cara’s body, nipping and sucking, taking first one, then the other of Cara’s nipples in her mouth. Cara moaned under Kahlan’s attentions and arched up, closing the distance between their bodies.  
  
Kahlan’s fingers raked roughly down her sides across her ribs. Then Kahlan did something she had never done before – she began to kiss and lick her way down the scar on Cara’s side. Though the tissue should have been deadened from the damage, Cara found that her skin was exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive. Kahlan’s kisses sent electric shocks coursing through her, and the lapping of Kahlan’s tongue gave her goosebumps all over her body. She gasped at the sensation.  
  
Kahlan drew back in alarm. “Did I hurt you?”  
  
Cara vigorously shook her head no. She curled her fingers in Kahlan’s rich brown hair and guided her back to the scar. Kahlan understood her silent plea and began to kiss again where she had left off. Cara’s body quivered under her tongue and Cara’s breath came in short, shuddering gasps. Cara’s eyes were squeezed shut and her brow was knitted together as she focused on the hot line of ecstasy being traced along her skin.   
  
***  
  
Kahlan had never seen the Mord’Sith like this. True Cara was a sensual and skilled lover, but that was common to all Mord’Sith. Nor was Cara unfamiliar with receiving pleasure from Kahlan, had at times even demanded it, but tonight was something altogether different. Cara’s carefully contrived control seemed to be slipping. Kahlan wondered if Cara was even aware of it.  
  
Kahlan’s mouth and tongue traveled lower and began to make their way across the ridge of Cara’s hip, which bucked with urgency. Cara’s legs opened wide at the subtle pressure of her hand, and Kahlan absorbed the sight and smell of Cara’s glistening sex, a wicked, sharp smile spreading across her face. Kahlan traced one long finger through Cara’s folds and Cara groaned at the contact.  
  
“Kahlan, wait – please.” The tentative, almost timid tone in Cara’s voice brought Kahlan up short, her mouth mere inches from Cara’s clit. Did she actually just say “please”? Kahlan could see arousal mixed with something else, something new, in Cara’s green eyes as she stared down at Kahlan. The muscles in Cara’s jaw clenched and unclenched as if she was trying to force her words out.  
  
“I want…,” Cara hesitated. “I want us to be together – at the same time.”  
  
Kahlan’s heart melted at the sight of Cara struggling to ask for what she desired. The request itself was so simple, but the act of making it so difficult for the Mord’Sith. Take and be taken was all that Cara had known for so long that asking for something made her incredibly vulnerable.  
  
“Of course,” Kahlan replied soothingly.  
  
Kahlan stretched her body atop Cara’s, their breasts crushing together. She kissed Cara slowly, deliberately, almost solemnly. Then she reached for the Rada’Han.  
  
Cara’s hand gripped her wrist, holding her back. Her face was grim. “I hate that thing.”  
  
“I know, Cara. But you know we can’t without it. I can’t. Your life is too high a price to pay for one moment’s pleasure.” Kahlan’s voice was firm, but there was a soft, pleading undertone.  
  
Cara grunted an indecipherable reply, but let Kahlan’s hand go. The heavy plain steel was cold as Kahlan placed it around her neck, the lock snapping shut with a faint click. She could feel the tingle of its magic counteracting her own, its presence always so alien no matter how many times she wore it. Yet she would never endanger Cara’s well-being out of pure selfishness.  
  
She sat back, straddling Cara’s legs, leaving just enough room for Cara’s thighs to admit her hand. With a devilish grin Kahlan reached down and slid her fingers over and past Cara’s clit and teased at Cara’s opening.  
  
“Now to finish what I started.”  
  
***  
  
Cara moaned loudly as Kahlan entered her with two fingers, soon adding a third. Cara allowed herself to enjoy Kahlan’s rhythm for half a minute, the slow, deep strokes matching the swaying of her hips. The heel of Kahlan’s hand rubbed deliciously over her clit. Then Cara reached for her lover.  
  
Cara found Kahlan already soaked with desire. While she deftly rolled and caressed the hard peak of Kahlan’s arousal with one hand, the fingers of her other found easy entry into Kahlan’s inviting, warm depth. The ripple of Kahlan’s smooth muscles clenching down on her fingers caused her own sex to tighten involuntarily and her hips bucked more wildly. She watched Kahlan with ravenous delight, whose eyes were closed, head thrown back, her breasts quivering as she took Cara inside of her.   
  
Moans filled the air, growing louder and more urgent and Cara couldn’t tell if they were Kahlan’s or her own. She could feel the exquisite pressure building between her legs and arcing along her spine. Her vision began to narrow and she could feel herself slipping over the edge, but she forced herself to focus on the demands of Kahlan’s body. Kahlan’s release was so close. Suddenly Kahlan’s eyes were fixed on Cara’s and there was a moment when the world froze around them just before Kahlan’s eyes snapped shut again and the Confessor let go in a hoarse shout. Cara came at the same instant, her muscles squeezing tightly around Kahlan’s fingers. All she could feel were her own sweet contractions being matched by those of Kahlan’s. All her senses were filled with Kahlan’s presence.  
  
***  
  
Later that night, Cara lay in Kahlan’s arms, the Confessor’s front pressed to her back, her warm breath brushing the skin on the back of Cara’s neck. Kahlan had been asleep for hours, exhausted by the twin exertions of her grueling day and their evening of love-making. Cara knew she should be asleep, too. Her body ached for rest but her mind would not let her. She grimaced in the dark as her eyes went yet again to the Rada’Han on the nightstand, glistening faintly in the moonlight that filtered through the windows. It chafed Cara more each time Kahlan wore it, resentment gnawing and twisting in her gut. She couldn’t quite explain it to herself – she knew the dangers to herself, she knew Kahlan was only trying to protect her – but her discontent continued to grow. Normally she would have been very satisfied with the way Kahlan responded to her attentions; in fact Kahlan’s enthusiasm was greater than that of most of the women and men she had bedded before. But Kahlan was no mere woman and Cara knew she wanted to feel Kahlan’s power running through her.  
  
As if her consternation over the Mother Confessor weren’t enough to keep her up, another very, different problem niggled at the back of her mind. There was one person Cara hadn’t seen today, one who should have been there most of all. Zedd. Zedd and she had made their peace in the months after Richard’s death, but he had never been as kind and welcoming as he had once been. Still on a day like today the absence of the First Wizard beside the Mother Confessor was conspicuous. She hoped that he had simply been overcome by the day. After all, Cara and Kahlan had each other, but whom did Zedd turn to when the loss of his grandson haunted him? She drew Kahlan’s arm around her more tightly and resolved that she would check in on the old wizard with the new day.


	2. The Inventor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery of Zedd is solved, but the solution to one mystery only generates others.

Cara was up before dawn. She had only slept a few hours but her mind was still racing and she was agitated with the sense that things were not right. She had slipped out of Kahlan’s sleeping embrace, sucking in a sharp, silent breath as a blast of frigid air hit her skin. The only sounds as she dressed were the faint pop and crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and the rattle of the winter winds tearing at the seams between window and sill. D’Hara was far warmer than Aydindril and at first the winters in the northern land felt brutal, but her blood finally seemed to be thickening with the passing of time. She could still feel the cold in her bones most days, but the ache had receded into the background of her subconscious. After she tugged on her gloves, she turned and knelt by the side of the bed. Her eyes roamed over the Confessor’s face, taking in the soft lines of Kahlan’s face as she had done so many times before. She reached a hand out to brush a stray hair from Kahlan’s forehead. She was tempted to steal another kiss from those delicate lips, but she didn’t want to wake Kahlan so early. Instead she placed a few more logs on the fire before leaving the room. If Kahlan was going to wake without her, at least the fire would keep her warm. She crept across the room silently, closing the heavy, oaken door gently behind her.  
  
Her first stop was the kitchens. Mistress Sanderholt and some of her staff were no doubt awake already and they were a good source of food and information, both of which Cara needed right now. Though she walked into the kitchen as silently as she had left her bed chamber, Mistress Sanderholt swiveled to greet her as she entered, still stirring an enormous pot with one calloused hand as she waved the Mord’Sith over. The head cook’s sense for what went on in her domain was unnerving, but it was a trait Cara had become used to. She nodded her head in mute greeting as she approached the older woman.  
  
“Up earlier than usual I see,” remarked Mistress Sanderholt, her shrewd eyes narrowing. She took in the shadows beneath Cara’s eyes. “A bit too early it would seem.”  
  
“I just need a bit of bread and conversation,” growled Cara.  
  
“You, needing conversation? And I’m a gar’s ass,” the cook snorted. She ladled two large spoonfuls of some enticing smelling concoction out of the pot into a wooden bowl and plunked it down on a long plank table in front of Cara. Before Cara could object, Mistress Sanderholt shoved a spoon at her. “Eat. You look like shadrin dung. This is supposed to be today’s lunch, but I think the meat’s passable now.”  
  
Cara sneered and grumbled as she snatched the proffered spoon out of the cook’s hand. The truth of the matter was that, other than the Mother Confessor herself, only Mistress Sanderholt dared order Cara around. Since it was almost always for her own good and since disobeying would probably get her barred from the kitchens, Cara begrudgingly acquiesced. Besides, Cara reasoned as she wolfed down delicious lamb stew, Mistress Sanderholt’s cooking was not to be missed and the kitchens were one of the only truly warm places in all of the Palace during the winter months – not that she would share either of those facts with the cook, who had already returned to tending her stew. Cara ate quickly, while the rest of the kitchen staff bustled around her. She let the sound of clanging pots and steam wash over her.   
  
As Cara finished the last of her stew, scraping the bottom of the bowl with her spoon, Mistress Sanderholt faced her again, wiping her hands with a towel and swiping a few wisps of gray hair out of her eyes. The cook crossed her arms across her chest and assessed the Mord’Sith. She must have been satisfied because she lifted her chin in Cara’s direction. “Now what was it that you wanted to know?”  
  
“Zedd wasn’t at the ceremonies yesterday,” started Cara without preamble. “Have you seen him in the past few days?”  
  
Mistress Sanderholt’s facial expression remained the same, but Cara noticed the twinkle in her eyes at the mention of the old wizard. The cook had a soft spot for the gangly, eccentric wizard, and if rumor held true, Zedd might have been visiting the kitchens for more than just the food. That was saying something, given the wizard’s legendary appetite.  
  
“The First Wizard was here three days ago, stealing honey biscuits before they’d even had a chance to cool,” groused Mistress Sanderholt, though Cara could see the cook wasn’t too put out. “As I recall he wandered off with a pretty sizeable chunk of cheese, a couple of loaves of bread and a slab of saltpork too, muttering something about missing ‘the finer things while being on the road’. Can’t say as I know where he was planning to go though. He didn’t mention anything to you or the Mother Confessor then?”  
  
“No. And with three day’s head start that fool of the First Order could be eyeball deep in trouble by now,” Cara remarked drily. Zedd was free to come and go as he chose, but it was maddening when he failed to notify her. Especially in the dead of winter he shouldn’t be wandering the mountains alone, First Wizard or no.  
  
“Well then, I hope you find him soon. But I wouldn’t underestimate Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander – he’s resourceful when he needs to be,” stated the cook.  
  
Cara rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’m worried about.”  
  
Seeking for more clues to Zedd’s whereabouts, Cara headed next to the Wizard’s Keep. There were rooms she could not enter, magically spelled against intrusion, and enchanted gates that remained locked no matter how she pried, but she found Zedd’s private study and library open. She rifled through the parchment on his desk and checked all the drawers in the battered, walnut cabinet along the east wall, carefully replacing anything she touched to its original position. Her search yielded little though and by mid-morning Cara ended her hunt with an exasperated sigh. The crafty, old bastard could be discrete when he wanted to be and Cara left no better informed of his intent than when she had gone in.  
  
Tendrils of snow swept across the flagstone streets as Cara made her way back down the hill to the Palace. Even she had conceded to the bitter chill in the air by donning a thick elk-hide cloak before embarking on her mission, and she thanked the Spirits for it now. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders as the wind whipped through her hair. Though yesterday had been a bright, calm day, the sun radiantly glinting off the snow, the weather today smelled of storms. Soon the wind would be howling down through every mountain pass and undoubtedly they would get another three feet of snow before the storms blew themselves out. Cara grimaced at the idea. The only thing that made these blasted winters bearable was the bed she would find herself in every night and the woman with whom she would be sharing that bed. That thought made her grimace deepen. She was getting soft, there was no doubt about it.  
  
***  
  
A fortnight passed and still Zedd had not returned. At first Kahlan had shared Cara’s unease with the wizard’s unannounced disappearance, but she reluctantly conceded that Zedd was capable of taking care of himself, and soon other affairs of state claimed her attention. The storms had lasted four whole days, during which Cara still mercilessly drilled the Home Guard in the main parade grounds. Uncertainty needled her, whipping her into a fury, and her acerbic tongue lashed out at any soldier who was half a step behind in maneuvers. It was Kahlan who finally put an end to the exercises when Cara stumbled in after dark on the fourth day, nearly hypothermic and her lips blue. She nearly had to tie Cara to the bed the next day, but finally the Mord’Sith allowed her troops a few days off to recover before resuming normal drills. Though the storms had blown themselves, clouds hung leaden and gloomy over the city, doing little to improve Cara’s mood.  
  
When Cara was not harrying the Home Guard or terrorizing the kitchen staff, Kahlan would find her pacing in her war room like a trapped leopard. Even with the storms gone, most of the mountain passes were snowed in and the plains to the south of Aydindril were treacherous. Cara complained bitterly that she could not send out search parties for Zedd as soon as she had wanted. Forced inaction seemed to have the Mord’Sith scaling the walls. Only Kahlan’s touch appeared to soothe her, and then only temporarily. In the still of the night Kahlan would find herself in Cara’s arms, their bodies so close she could barely tell where hers ended and Cara’s began. Cara’s lovemaking grew more desperate and wild, as if she was trying to purge herself of something for which she had no name. One night after they had both taken their pleasure several times, Cara had shocked Kahlan by nearly tearing the Rada’Han from her neck and slinging it across the room, the metal collar clattering to the floor while Cara kissed Kahlan so hard it left their lips bruised and swollen. Kahlan wanted her lover to talk to her, to tell her what was driving her so feverishly, but Cara seemed to speak less than normal even while her intensity grew. So Kahlan simply held on, clinging to Cara as if she was on the back of a runaway steed.  
  
***  
  
A few days before Spring’s Eve, the Palace was bustling with new life. The clouds had finally lifted and the sun surged through the windows stronger and brighter than it had in months. Though the temperature outside was still chilly, the wind had lost most of its bite. Several of the passes had opened and a steady stream of travelers began to fill Aydindril’s streets, some eager to move out while others filed in to find business, supplies, shelter and news. The meeting of the Council of the Midlands was almost a friendly affair, with the sniping and politics kept to a tolerable level while Kahlan presided, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips for most of the meeting. Cara alone seemed to be unaffected by the pleasant turn in the weather and was busy sharing this with Kahlan almost the moment the doors had closed behind the Councilors.  
  
“I don’t trust that delegation from Kelton!” huffed Cara, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed with disapproval. She continued, “And that insipid little lapdog from Tamarang wants more than he’s saying. The way he practically licked your boots was revolting.”  
  
Cara shook her head in disgust, her hands gripping the back of the nearest chair. Kahlan was sure if she could see Cara’s fingers under her gloves the knuckles would be white. The Mother Confessor respected Cara’s judgment more than any other, but today she wondered if the Mord’Sith’s words had more to do with Cara’s foul temper than any real threat. Undaunted, she laughed and placed a reassuring hand on Cara’s forearm.  
  
“Do what you must do, my love. Send your spies – you’ll do it anyway, even if I tell you not to. But Cara, Kelton has thrived under the new trade agreements with Aydindril, and even Prince Fyren’s brother can’t argue with that. As for Councilor Timmick, he is neither the first nor will he be the last to try to garner favors from the Mother Confessor with a bit of flattery.”  
  
Kahlan’s hand lifted from Cara’s arm up to Cara’s cheek. A twinkle was in her eye as she said, “I know you’ve never had much stomach for politics, but would you please stop trying to strangle that chair. I’m pretty sure the tree was long dead before you got to it.”  
  
The disgruntled expression on Cara’s face didn’t change but the slight flush of red in her cheeks let Kahlan know that Cara was embarrassed at being called out. Cara’s fingers loosened their iron grip on the high-backed seat.  
  
“That’s better,” Kahlan murmured demurely. She looped an arm around Cara’s and began to guide the reluctant Mord’Sith towards the doors of the meeting hall. “We should grab a bite to eat before the D’Haran Trade Guild representatives arrive this afternoon and then –“  
  
Her words were cut short as the double doors burst open to admit one very tall, very breathless and very excited Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander, his long robes billowing out behind him as he strode up to the pair.  
  
“By the Spirits, I am glad to see you,” he exclaimed to Kahlan, grinning. He pulled her into a tight embrace which she returned warmly. Drawing back she beamed up at him, opening her mouth as if to speak, but Cara beat her to it.  
  
“Where in the Keeper’s name have you been?” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her hips cocked at a defiant angle. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”  
  
Zedd arched one bushy eyebrow, and his usually warm voice held the slightest hint of an icy layer as he replied, “I’ll have you know that I was crossing from D’Hara to Westland and back again on my own long before you were toddling around in diapers, child.”  
  
Her only response was an eye roll.  
  
“Zedd, we have been worried,” said Kahlan, her tone much more diplomatic than Cara’s. “Why didn’t you leave us word? We could have sent an envoy with you?”  
  
“I’m sorry to have concerned you, Kahlan, but there was no time. A letter from Verna came and I needed to leave right away. There’s so much to tell! But first you two should meet Belle Hoffert.”  
  
“Who?” asked Cara and Kahlan in unison.  
  
“Me,” replied a low voice from somewhere behind Zedd. The wizard turned aside to reveal a stout woman with mousy brown hair cropped close to her head and clear, light brown eyes that shared their owner’s smile. Cara looked her over with a wary eye, a bit perturbed that the wizard would bring a complete stranger to see Kahlan without announcing her.   
  
_Belle might mean beautiful_ , thought Cara, _but this woman’s name doesn’t suit her_. It wasn’t that she was ugly, but there were no traces of feminine grace or curves about her. She was square, with a large head and strong jaw, broad shoulders and a thick girth. The hands that hung by her side were beefy with scarred knuckles and a few burn marks. One thumbnail was an ugly purple from where it had obviously been struck in the not too distant past. Her clothes were rough hewn but well cared for and her large boots were scuffed and dirty. The pack that hung from her shoulders looked heavy and was battered from many days on the road. She might almost be handsome after a good bath to wash away the grime of travelling, but Cara’s strongest impression was that the woman was someone who was…solid.  
  
The woman bowed deeply in Kahlan’s direction.  
  
“Mother Confessor, it is an honor to meet you. I am sorry if I caught you off guard.”  
  
If Kahlan had been surprised by the unexpected presence of Belle, she was quick to regain her composure. She graciously accepted Belle’s greeting and asked her to rise. Then she turned back to the wizard.  
  
“Zedd, what’s going on?” Kahlan asked, her eyebrows raised in confusion.  
  
“I’ll explain it all, but might there be a chance we could get a little something from the kitchens? I’m famished.”  
  
Cara snorted. Some things never changed. Kahlan however seemed to think this a reasonable request, replying, “I’ll have something sent up. Perhaps your companion would like to be shown to the guest quarters while we talk?”  
  
“I’m afraid this tale’s as much hers as it is mine. I’d like her to stay if that’s alright.”  
  
Kahlan nodded her assent and motioned for them to take a seat while she sent word to the kitchens. When they all had found chairs at one end of the table, Zedd began his story.  
  
He had received a letter from Verna, Sister of the Light and the new Prelate overseeing the training of the young wizards in the Old World. Though she had scant solid information to offer, she had been hearing rumors of a new rebellion forming that could threaten the Mother Confessor. Unfortunately she didn’t know who the leader of this new threat was, nor did she know where to find him, but her spies were able to discover one important piece of information – that the rebels were looking for a blacksmith named Belle Hoffert in Nicobarese. Verna had also shared that certain magical artifacts, called the Stones of Surrender, had gone missing from the Old World. She didn’t know if the two were connected, but the Prelate didn’t believe in coincidences.  
  
Upon receiving Verna’s letter, Zedd had set out immediately to find Belle, not knowing how close the rebel agents might be or why they were after her. Though the letter relayed mostly rumors, Zedd trusted Verna’s instincts.  
  
“But Zedd,” exclaimed Kahlan, “you left in the dead of winter and Nicobarese is on the other side of the Rang’Shada Mountains. Those passes were sealed.”  
  
“Oh, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve that even you don’t know about, Kahlan. But that is neither here nor there. The point being I arrived just in time.”  
  
Three men had attacked Belle in her own shop, although only two remained standing by the time Zedd blasted into the back room, the shockwave of his spell ripping the doors leading into the forge completely off their hinges. As Zedd stepped over the downed assailant he noted with satisfaction that the man’s nose would certainly never again return to the same shape it originally had before it met the blacksmith’s hammer. Belle was cornered by the bellows, looking worse for wear with a split lip and a torn shirt, but one strong hand held her hammer and the other an unformed length of iron. She had been swinging the iron and bellowing like an injured bull at her attackers when Zedd caught both of the men in a wizard’s web and flung them like rag dolls against a wall.  
  
“This is all very interesting, wizard,” drawled Cara, her sour expression suggesting his story was anything but, “however, could we get to the part where you explain who she is? Or what these people wanted from her?”  
  
“Patience, child,” Zedd harrumphed, knowing full well that the Mord’Sith had none. “It’ll not be long now – oh look, lamb, my favorite!”  
  
Cara threw up her hands in exasperation as Zedd’s attention narrowed down to the plate being set in front of him. The wizard set about devouring the rack of lamb, fried potatoes and pickled vegetables with his infamous gusto. For a moment the only sounds in the hall were the sounds of food being inhaled at a great pace and Zedd’s satisfied grunts. Belle coughed and shifted in her seat nervously.  
  
“Perhaps, Mother Confessor, I could fill in the rest,” she began, smiling shyly while her eyes darted nervously from Kahlan to Cara and back again. Apparently, the realization that she was sitting at the same table with the Mother Confessor of the Midlands and a very discontent Mord’Sith had sunk in. “I am not one for telling tales, but…”  
  
“Please go on.” Kahlan nodded encouragingly. She was used to having this effect on people, and unlike Cara, she tried to assuage people’s fears, using intimidation as a last resort.  
  
Belle took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “The first thing you should know about me is that I’m no one really, just a blacksmith. My one talent is that I am a bit of an inventor. You see, I’ve had to be, because I am ungifted.”  
  
As one, Cara and Kahlan leaned forward intently. Cara’s eyes narrowed, while Kahlan’s widened. Zedd smirked at them from behind a sizeable piece of meat. Neither of them had met a pristinely ungifted one since Jensen Rahl, Richard’s half-sister, had left the Palace after Richard’s death. They were rare, only a few born in each generation and for many decades the Rahls had hunted them with as much fervor as they had hunted Confessors. Their resistance to any and all magic meant they were a threat to the D’Haran empire, an empire built upon and ruled by magic. Only Richard’s ascension to the D’Haran throne had stopped the slaughter of both Confessors and the pristinely ungifted.  
  
Belle was nonplussed by the sudden attention and she began to babble. “You can’t imagine what it’s like being ungifted in a province like Nicobarese. So many people with the gift. Magic is a way of life there, even for the common folk. I started inventing things as a way to make myself useful. Easy things at first, new improvements on old tools. Then I began working with glass, experimenting with different kinds of lenses. Nothing too impressive. Then I stumbled upon a weapon – it was a simple accident, but I soon came to realize that what I had could be very dangerous in the wrong hands. I hid my prototypes away, burned my notes, but a few of the townspeople knew what I was up to and apparently word got around. At least that’s the conclusion that Zedd and I came to after we discussed it.”  
  
Belle’s voice petered out and she looked to Zedd for support. He nodded at her and winked. Belle visibly relaxed. The wizard pushed his plate away from him, looking a little forlorn that it was empty so soon, but he belched in contentment.  
  
“You see why it took us a bit longer to return to Aydindril than it took me to get there. Without the ability to use magic on Belle we had to resort to more conventional means and that meant waiting for the passes to clear out.”  
  
“What kind of weapon –“  
  
“Who were these men –“  
  
Kahlan and Cara started talking at the same instant. Zedd raised a hand to stop them. A dark cloud passed over his expression before he replied.  
  
“I never had the chance to question those brigands. You see each man had an alcala stone in his mouth. They were dead before I could even ask their names. They carried nothing on them that identified them, no sigil or crest. From their looks they could’ve been D’Haran. One might have been from the Midlands, but really, who knows? I’m afraid I’m no closer to understanding this rebellion or its leader than when I left.”  
  
“We’ll find them, Zedd,” Kahlan said firmly, her eyes suddenly icy. “Now, as for this weapon…”  
  
“Perhaps a demonstration would serve more than words,” Zedd suggested, his tone a bit mysterious.  
  
***  
  
The four of them gathered in a small courtyard away from the center of the palace. Most of the snow had melted, but drifts still piled up in the corners of the yard where the sun was weakest. Cara had guards posted at each entryway, inside the Palace where they could intercept anyone who would interrupt, yet unable to see the courtyard themselves, lest their curiosity get the better of them. Zedd had requisitioned a beam of wood and two saw horses which he placed in the center of the courtyard, laying the length of wood across the trestles. The beam was solid and square, at least four hands wide and deep, and about as long as a man was tall.  
  
Belle took twenty long paces from the beam and turned. As the others watched, she knelt on the cobblestones and pulled something long and metallic out of her pack. She handed it to Cara for inspection. The Mord’Sith grunted a little at the surprising weight. It was a smooth tube of metal, hollow in the center and open at one end. The other end was flat metal and seemed to be thicker than the cylinder walls. There was a single small hole near the closed end of the tube.  
  
“This is a weapon of devastating proportions?” Cara questioned, her eyebrows arching in disbelief. She handed the tube back to Belle. “It seems fit for little more than a club.”  
  
“It’s not a weapon yet,” replied Belle, a slight hint of mischief in her eyes. She drew more items from her pack – a canister of some sort, a strip of cloth and a metal ball. Wordlessly she opened the canister and poured a dark powder into the lid, using it as a rudimentary measuring cup. This she poured down the tube, followed by the metal ball. She stuffed the strip of cloth into the hole at the end. Using stones that Zedd had also claimed, she built a rough pedestal for the cylinder, being sure to back the tube with the heaviest slab. Cara noted that she seemed to be aiming it at the beam. Then Belle grabbed a knife and flint off of her belt and turned to her companions.  
  
“You should step away and cover your ears,” she said seriously.  
  
Seeing Cara about to object, Zedd added, “I would do as she says.”  
  
The three of them stood against the wall behind Belle’s contraption. With a practiced precision, Belle’s knife hit the flint and sparks flew at the first strike. The strip of cloth began to burn and she hurried to join the others, stuffing a thick finger in each of her ears. The cloth burned lower, then disappeared over the lip of the hole. There was a breathless pause and then the world disappeared in a cacophony of thunder and smoke.  
  
Cara’s eyes stung as she waved the acrid smoke from her eyes. Beside her Kahlan was coughing, a grimace on her pale, freckled face. The stink of sulfur permeated the air. Soon however the gray cloud cleared, carried out by the early spring wind. Cara marveled at the sight before her – the thick beam had been cracked completely in two and lay several feet beyond the saw horses on the ground. The trestles themselves had been knocked over in disarray. Large splinters of wood had scattered across the courtyard. Thin wisps of smoke trailed from the mouth of the cylinder. Cara traced what must have been the metal balls trajectory and was astonished to see it firmly embedded in the mortar of the far wall.  
  
“By the Spirits!” exclaimed Kahlan.  
  
“Magnificent,” whispered Cara.  
  
Belle looked at them for a moment, and then turned to look at the destruction before her. Her voice was solemn when she spoke. “Mother Confessor, this is just a small prototype. Imagine what could be done with weapons twice as large, or ten times as large, with balls as big as your head. This could shift the balance of military power in the Midlands and beyond.”  
  
“I want twenty,” said Cara impulsively, surveying the small weapon’s aftermath.  
  
“Cara!” Kahlan rebuked sharply, giving her a disapproving glance.  
  
“My apologies, Mother Confessor,” Cara said, but with a notable lack of conviction. She would be talking to this inventor soon, once they were out of earshot of Kahlan. What this weapon could do for the defense of Aydindril…  
  
“And there’s no magic in this?” Kahlan was asking, a hand waving vaguely at the scene around her. Although she radiated calm, Cara could hear the subtle hint of shock in her voice.  
  
Belle shook her head. “No, just a bit of dumb luck and a few ingredients. The powder is not even that powerful in the open air, but bottle it up and it’s more dangerous than Dragon’s Breath. And unlike Dragon’s Breath, which just explodes in every direction, this can be directed – as you’ve just seen.”  
  
“Does anyone else possess the formula for this powder?” Cara could practically see the wheels turning in Kahlan’s head.  
  
“No, Mother Confessor.”   
  
“And you have the only prototypes with you?”  
  
“Yes, my Lady.”  
  
“Good. Belle, this weapon must never see the light of day,” said Kahlan gravely, her face the mask of the Mother Confessor, “I’m afraid you cannot return to Nicobarese, at least not until this rebellion is stopped. I know this might be hard for you, but I can’t risk your capture. You will be a guest here at the Palace and you may explore the city freely, but I must insist that you do not leave. This is as much for your protection as it is for ours. Do you understand?”   
  
Belle stared at Kahlan wide-eyed, but she nodded. “Yes, Mother Confessor. Once Zedd told me what was going on, I suspected something like this might happen. There is not much for me back home, anyway. I just ask that if I am to stay that at least I be of some use. With your permission I would like to work in your smithy here. I’m not very good at being idle.”  
  
Kahlan gave her a gentle smile and placed a sympathetic hand on the blacksmith’s arm. “I’ll see to it that you’re introduced to our master of the forge in the morning. Until then you should get some rest. Zedd and I still have much to talk about.”  
  
It was a dismissal, however kindly, and Belle hung back as Zedd and Kahlan left the courtyard. Cara gave the blacksmith a shrewd glance, opening her mouth as if to say something, then closing it again.  
  
Finally Cara cocked her head to one side and said coolly, “You should secure your invention. Bring it and any other prototypes to my war room. The guards will see to it that the mess is cleared away.”  
  
As Cara turned to leave, she felt Belle’s strong hand on her arm. She eyed the offending appendage with a icy, reproving stare. No one save the Mother Confessor touched the Mord’Sith without her permission. Belle snatched her hand back, her face a look of surprise at her own daring.  
  
“I am sorry,” she stammered, “but I was thinking…if there is an attack from this rebellion, you’ll be busy protecting the Mother Confessor, and she and the wizard will be busy protecting Aydindril. I know none of you will have time to protect me, but I have no intention of being taken prisoner. I wish I could un-invent this monstrosity, but I can’t, and as long as I’m alive that knowledge is in my head.”  
  
Belle paused, looking at Cara for a reaction. Cara stared back at her, keeping her eyes guarded, studying Belle silently. Belle licked her lips nervously and continued, “Is there is someone who could…train me? To protect myself? If I can fight, maybe I can keep myself from getting captured. I can’t just keep smashing people with my hammer.”  
  
Belle grinned sheepishly at Cara. For a blacksmith this woman certainly thought strategically, decided Cara. She liked that. She could use that.  
  
“You’ll train at night,” said Cara bluntly, “ _after_ your work in the smithy. You’ll do as I say, when I say, for however long I say. Is that clear?”  
  
Belle nodded eagerly, her smile widening. “Yes, thank you.”  
  
“Don’t thank me yet, blacksmith.” With that Cara strode from the courtyard, leaving Belle to collect her belongings while ribbons of snow whirled across the stones.


	3. The Gathering Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara struggles to find clues about the threats to Aydindril, while also trying to come to terms with some of her feelings about Kahlan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ve only read the first two books completely and skimmed a few of the others, so I am probably taking liberties with the layout of Aydindril. I have no idea if the city and its walls were described in any detail in the books, and therefore whether I’m botching it up – sorry.

The sky changed from orange to red, then red to purple, and finally purple to navy blue as twilight crept across Aydindril. At last, spring had begun to creep into the north lands, and the smell of new grass and wildflowers was carried by the wind coming from the plains. Kahlan walked through the back passages of the Palace, trying to relax her stiff body and restless mind. She had dismissed the last of her advisors after a particularly grueling afternoon of treaty negotiations. Always at the back of her mind was the hidden threat of the mysterious rebellion. Almost a month had passed since Zedd’s return, but Cara would just shake her head each time Kahlan asked if information had been discovered about the identity of the rebels, their whereabouts, anything at all. Zedd’s search into the power of the Stones of Surrender was proving equally as futile. Without anything substantial to act upon Kahlan could do nothing but continue to rule Aydindril as she had before.  
  
After ending the afternoon’s taxing session of political deal-making, Kahlan had gone in search of her lover. A smile came unbidden to her lips as she rolled the word over in her mind. _Lover._ She still wondered at the twists of fate that had turned a woman she should have hated into a lover.   
  
***  
  
Richard had started it four years ago, insisting that Kahlan give Cara a chance to prove her worth as a ‘reformed’ Mord’Sith. He was raised in Westland, and didn’t fully understand the enmity between Confessors and the Mord’Sith. Mord’Sith were more than the living instruments of pain and torture used by the Rahl bloodline – they were also the weapons with which the Rahls hunted the Confessors nearly to extinction. Kahlan despised them. However, for reasons that she hadn’t fully understood herself, Kahlan had acquiesced to Richard’s request. Kahlan’s wary caution towards Cara had reluctantly transformed into begrudging respect, which eventually melted into warm affection and powerful trust. Through a year of searching for the Stone of Tears and another two years of Richard and Kahlan’s rule, Cara and Kahlan’s bond had remained much the same, comfortable and safe. During those years Kahlan would occasionally notice an inscrutable expression on Cara’s face as she looked at her, but all Mord’Sith were unreadable to a Confessor, and Kahlan gave it little thought. Besides, Cara was in Aydindril even less than Richard. Often, when Richard would return from a season at the People’s Palace, Cara would stay behind to oversee the implementation of his edicts. Kahlan missed the Mord’Sith, as she would any member of her family, but the Mother Confessor understood duty better than anyone and so she did not dwell on Cara’s absence.  
  
Then Cara had come home, Richard’s body hung over the back of her horse and the Sword of Truth in her hand. Kahlan’s world had come apart at the seams. As Cara had announced Richard’s fall, Kahlan had felt her insides twist in agony. Her greatest fear finally had been realized. Richard was gone and every bone in her body ached instantly with the loss. Through a haze of pain, Kahlan had seen that the Mord’Sith expected to be confessed, yet still Cara had returned to Aydindril to face the Mother Confessor, unconcerned for her own fate. How little the Mord’Sith must have thought of herself to anticipate such treatment. How loyal she had been to Richard to be willing to lay down her life to return his body to Kahlan. It still broke Kahlan’s heart to think of it. Kahlan would never have destroyed one member of her family out of grief for another, but even after years of affection and care between Cara and Kahlan, the Mord’Sith had somehow failed to understand that.  
  
Cara’s wound had been much deeper than it had first appeared. When she had collapsed at Kahlan’s feet, her blood seeping onto the floor of the Great Hall, panic had risen in Kahlan’s chest, swirling and writhing together with her grief into a tight, white-hot ball of pain. _Not you, too. I will not lose another today! You will live_ , she had commanded Cara silently as she bent over the unresponsive Mord’Sith. It had taken every ounce of her training to maintain a thin veneer of control while her muzzled screams battered the inside of her skull. Somehow she had managed to give directions to her advisors and her servants before she fled.  
  
Kahlan had had Cara taken to her own chambers so that she could be close to the Mord’Sith. The gash in Cara’s side had putrefied during the days it had taken her to reach the Confessors Palace, and she had been overcome by fever. She had remained unconscious or semi-conscious for three weeks, while the palace healers and a contrite and somber Zedd had tended to her under Kahlan’s watchful eye. By day, Kahlan had gone through the motions of being the Mother Confessor. There had been funeral arrangements to make and the transfer of power to the new Lady Rahl to complete. Even now, Kahlan couldn’t remember how she had remained standing during those weeks, let alone how she had managed to rule. She had been like a ghost. At night in her bed chamber, she would weep for Richard and for herself while sitting huddled by the fire. She stopped eating. She would change Cara’s bandages and place cool, wet rags on Cara’s over-warm forehead. Sometimes, she would talk to Cara even though her words went unacknowledged, telling Cara how brave the Mord’Sith had been, pleading with her to come back. Other times she would pray to the Creator, begging Her to be merciful and not take yet another of her loved ones from her. It was as if saving Cara might save some part of herself that was on the verge of being lost forever.  
  
One night Kahlan had found herself lying next to the inert Mord’Sith, holding her hand. Stroking Cara’s blonde hair, Kahlan had noticed how fragile the smaller woman seemed, nothing like the vibrant, fierce warrior and friend Kahlan had known for so long. The sight had terrified her. She hadn’t been able to breathe, as if an indescribable weight was slowly crushing the life from her. When finally her tears had come, she cried until exhaustion overcame her.  
  
The next morning Kahlan had felt the hand still clenched in her own twitch and then return her grip, albeit weakly. She had opened her eyes to see green eyes looking back at her. Joy and relief had shot through Kahlan like a bolt of lightning. Laughing and crying at the same time, her mind whirling with too many emotions, Kahlan had impulsively kissed Cara. It had been a quick, almost chaste kiss, meant as nothing more than an expression of her happiness at seeing the Mord’Sith awake for the first time in weeks, but she could feel Cara’s lips move under her own and it had stirred something in her. Kahlan had drawn back in shock and confusion, her fingers pressed to her own lips. They had stared at each other for a moment that felt just shy of eternity, wordless, before Kahlan finally broke the spell. She had risen abruptly and called for a healer. It would be months before either of them finally had the courage to acknowledge what had passed between them that morning.  
  
***  
  
Kahlan was shaken from her reverie by the sounds of clashing metal coming in through an open window. She chuckled softly to herself when she realized that she was holding her fingers to her lips, just as she had the morning Cara awoke from her long illness. She peered out of the third story window, which opened to a view of a little used drill yard below. She could make out two figures, circling each other in the waning light. One twisted and turned with feline grace. The other’s motions were powerful and deliberate, but clumsy and unskilled. From time to time, their blades would catch the last fragments of light as they met and parted and met again. Of course Cara would be using a sword, thought Kahlan, though she had rarely seen the Mord’Sith handling one. Without the effect of magic, Cara’s agiels would have no more effect than a blunt stick on the skin of an ungifted one.   
  
Suddenly the larger of the two women was on her backside after a swift blow from the other’s left hand. Cara’s rich tones wafted up to her.  
  
“Watch my movements, blacksmith,” the Mord’Sith said sharply. “I advertised that last uppercut by dropping my shoulder. You need to learn to anticipate the attack from all sides, not just from my blade.”  
  
Belle stood quickly, but she remained bent over with her hands upon her knees. She was breathing heavily and labored to respond, “Perhaps I would have seen the uppercut coming if I could see through the stars. I’m lucky that last elbow didn’t break my nose.”  
  
“Would you rather I go easy on you?” asked Cara drily. Kahlan could imagine the Mord’Sith’s taunting smirk, though she could not see her face in the gathering darkness. “No doubt your enemies would extend you the same courtesy if you asked them nicely.”  
  
Cara’s sarcasm seemed to goad Belle into motion. Pulling herself upright, the blacksmith lunged, catching Cara by surprise. However, the Mord’Sith’s years of experience proved superior over Belle’s momentary advantage and the blacksmith was driven back by a series of precise swings. Kahlan’s breath hitched at the way her lover’s red-clad body danced with an elegance as deadly as it was beautiful. Kahlan was also pleased to see that Belle did not give ground easily, though the sturdy woman was undoubtedly out-maneuvered. The blacksmith managed to give Cara one or two fierce jabs before Cara sent her sprawling once again.  
  
“That is enough for tonight,” spoke Cara. “If you continue to hack away with your sword the way you did today, we’d all be safer giving you your hammer back.”  
  
Kahlan thought this was a distinctly unfair assessment of the blacksmith’s progress, but Belle didn’t seem to be ruffled by Cara’s mockery. She laughed a hearty, full-bellied laugh as she struggled back to her feet for the second time.  
  
“Who needs my hammer when we’ve got your tongue to flay our enemies alive?” she quipped. The Mord’Sith answered her with silence, but Kahlan could tell by the roll of her shoulders that Cara was fighting back her own smile.  
  
“Tomorrow night, then,” Cara said.  
  
“I’ll be here.”  
  
As Mord’Sith exited the drill yard, Kahlan followed the sensual swagger of Cara’s hips, a familiar knot of desire curling deep in her belly. When the blonde had disappeared from sight, Kahlan leapt from her perch with the intention of intercepting her. No one knew how to relax her better than Cara.  
  
***  
  
Cara lay in the cooling bath, re-reading Berdine’s message in the journey book for a third time, though its contents made her no happier than they had the first time. She had insisted that Kahlan bathe first because she could see the fatigue in the brunette’s pale eyes and pinched features. Kahlan had succumbed to her persuasion, but only after extracting promises that Cara soon join her in their bed chamber. Left alone for a few minutes, Cara had taken the opportunity to examine the message that had arrived that afternoon from the Mord’Sith who commanded the People’s Palace in Cara and Kahlan’s absence.   
  
_Cara,  
  
We are having no more luck uncovering the nature of this rebellion than you have. There are more  
rumors than rats in a garbage heap, but every time we press further we find no substance. There have  
been raids on several villages along the border between D’Hara and the Midlands, but every time our  
troops arrive the perpetrators have fallen back into the wilds. There is nothing to prove that these  
attacks are anything but the work of common brigands, yet I think they are more systematic than one  
would expect from thugs and thieves. As you can imagine, Raina has worked herself into a fury over  
our failure to capture even one of these men. The people are getting restless, too. They wonder if  
the D’Haran Army has lost the mettle to keep them safe.  
  
More troubling are the disappearances of certain Mord’Sith and Dragon Corps officers. There have not  
been many, but those who have disappeared do not seem to have been taken by force. Cara, these are  
people who only begrudgingly served Richard Rahl because the blood of D’Haran kings ran through his  
veins. They questioned his strength and his ideals. You know I serve the Lady Rahl as faithfully as  
any, but there are some who cannot stomach the idea of the Mother Confessor, once our sworn enemy,  
ruling over D’Hara. Be careful.  
  
Berdine_  
  
Cara snapped the journey book shut and tossed it onto the stool next to her. She shifted uncomfortably in the tepid water, dropping her head back to rest against the cool metal rim of the wash tub. She felt as though she was trying to put together a puzzle with only half the pieces, and it unsettled her. Defecting D’Harans and missing Old World magic. What did it mean? What was coming? Why were these rebels like ghosts, vanishing with the light of day? Cara had sent spies out in every direction, scouring the Midlands and D’Hara for information. At first they had nothing to report, then a few stopped reporting at all. Dead, captured, or converted? Cara had no way of knowing, and it infuriated her. She could sympathize with Berdine’s petite lover – she liked the circumstances no more than Raina did. She almost missed the days when it was just her, Kahlan, Richard and Zedd on the road. At least then it was fairly simple – hurt, kill or maim anything that tried to hurt her accidental family and occasionally follow an order from a reluctant Lord Rahl. Intrigue was never her strong suit.  
  
A cough behind her caused Cara to spin around in the tub. She struggled to find her footing on the tub’s slick metal bottom, sloshing water onto the floor in her haste. She had not heard footsteps and she inwardly reproached herself for the lapse. A bemused Kahlan stood naked in the doorway, openly appraising Cara’s bare body.  
  
“Can I help you, Mother Confessor?” Cara said in a tone that she hoped sounded sultry instead of flustered, doing what little she could to regain her dignity.  
  
“I believe you were supposed to be in our bed by now,” replied Kahlan, her voice taking on a decidedly teasing lilt. She approached the Mord’Sith and reached out a hand. A slender fingertip caught a droplet of water that was about to fall from one of Cara’s nipples. Cara shivered slightly as Kahlan brought the finger to her lips and lightly sucked the water from it. Cara’s mind was trying to move in too many different directions at once, torn between desire and duty. She should be telling Kahlan about Berdine’s letter, not ogling her like some oversexed schoolboy. Her body seemed to have its own volition, though, and she found herself following Kahlan, her legs carrying her in the direction of their bed chambers. Cara’s eyes traveled down Kahlan’s smooth pale back, the curve of Kahlan’s hips, and the length of her gorgeous legs.  
  
Cara quietly shut the door of the bed chamber and leaned back against it, savoring the sensation of craving that filled her as Kahlan stopped by the foot and gave her a look that somehow seemed both shy and wanton. Cara marveled at how Kahlan always maintained a sense of innocence and purity about her, even when engaged in the most carnal acts. She supposed that Kahlan had never had to fully divorce her mind from her body, as Cara had been forced to do, and for that Cara was eternally grateful. In a way, Kahlan was still innocent, despite all that she had seen and done as the Mother Confessor. Naturally Kahlan’s heart was as involved as her body in her love-making and it made Cara feel like she was responsible for a precious secret that was hers alone to keep safe. That thought filled her with equal parts dread and awe.  
  
Cara’s pulse quickened as she pushed herself away from the door. A trickle of guilt ran through the river of desire flowing inside her. She had been rough with Kahlan lately, not enough to hurt her of course, but enough that Cara knew Kahlan had noticed. She had used the Confessor, selfishly taking her pleasure to exorcise her own demons. Cara despised the part of her herself that was too weak to stop. Tonight, however, Cara had seen the dark smudges under Kahlan’s eyes. Kahlan’s radiance was undiminished, but there were traces of exhaustion in the way she held her body. Tonight, Cara decided, would be for Kahlan, and Kahlan alone.  
  
Coming up behind Kahlan, the Mord’Sith rested her hands on Kahlan’s hips as she began to place feathery kisses along Kahlan’s shoulders. Kahlan leaned back into her touch, her backside pressing into Cara’s front. Cara slid her right hand around Kahlan’s body, her hand making lazy circles on Kahlan’s belly. A soft moan escaped Kahlan’s lips and Cara took this as encouragement, her hand sliding lower to tease in the curls at the apex of Kahlan’s legs. Kahlan whimpered as Cara’s other hand reached up to cup a full breast, rolling Kahlan’s nipple gently between her fingers. Cara lingered over Kahlan’s breast, enjoying the feel of soft flesh under her fingertips. Then she placed one hand firmly between Kahlan’s legs and the other in the center of Kahlan’s chest, pulling the Confessor tight against her, Cara’s crotch rubbing against the swell of Kahlan’s buttocks.  
  
“Spirits, Cara…the things you make me feel,” gasped Kahlan.  
  
Cara paused for a moment to relish the sound of Kahlan’s arousal. She could feel her own sex tighten, but her attention was focused on the woman whose heat filled her senses. She buried her face in Kahlan’s thick tresses, inhaling her scent. With one smooth movement, she scooped the Confessor up into her arms and carried Kahlan the rest of the way to the bed. Kahlan gave a surprised squeak at finding herself literally swept off her feet, but Cara felt her relax in her embrace. Cara gently laid Kahlan down on the covers.  
  
Heartbeat thundering in her ears, Cara took in the sight of her lover waiting so willingly, the Confessor’s blue eyes darkening to indigo. Cara knelt beside Kahlan and kissed her passionately, her tongue searching out Kahlan’s. She nipped at Kahlan’s lips, her chin, her throat, while Kahlan let out small sounds of pleasure. Cara continued the exploration of Kahlan’s body with her mouth, trailing wet kisses over the places her hands had been. Kahlan groaned, her body rising to meet Cara’s mouth.  
Leaning back once again, Cara hesitated, a jumble of emotions roiling in her chest. Despite the misgivings and doubts souring her gut, she took the Rada’Han from the stand beside the bed and offered it to Kahlan. It was the first time the Mord’Sith had ever willingly abided its presence and Kahlan’s eyes widened in surprise.  
  
“You’re going to need this,” Cara said gruffly, her voice thick with emotion, as she opened the Rada’Han for Kahlan, who sat up to put it on. Instead of taking it, Kahlan placed her own hands over Cara’s and guided the Mord’Sith’s hands to place the Rada’Han around her neck. Cara wanted to pull away, but she gritted her teeth and closed the collar. Kahlan’s hands wrapped around the back of Cara’s neck, as the Confessor pulled her forward into another deep kiss.  
  
“Thank you,” Kahlan murmured when their lips finally separated. Cara gave her a half smile. If tonight was going to be for Kahlan, then Cara was not going to make Kahlan argue over the damned thing again. Cara didn’t have to like it; tonight she just had to accept it.  
  
Kahlan laid back upon the bed, and Cara slid her own body over the Confessor’s. Cara rubbed her breasts on Kahlan’s while sucking on Kahlan’s earlobe. Kahlan cried out as Cara’s leg slid between Kahlan’s thighs, pressing against Kahlan’s center. Cara could feel Kahlan’s heat and wetness on her thigh as she rocked her hips against Kahlan’s. Kahlan responded by digging her fingers into Cara’s hips, increasing the pressure on them both. Driven by Kahlan’s panting, Cara quickened her tempo, and was rewarded by Kahlan’s sharp intake of breath. Kahlan’s hands moved to Cara’s back, and the Mord’Sith could feel the Confessor’s fingertips sink into her skin. The movement of Kahlan’s hips became more frantic, and Cara knew the Confessor needed release.  
  
“Kahlan,” Cara whispered in a low growl, her mouth a hair’s breadth from the Confessor’s ear, “I’m going to taste you now.”  
  
She felt Kahlan shudder under her in response, and a low, needy moan erupted from Kahlan’s mouth. The next moment Cara slid down Kahlan’s body and spread Kahlan’s legs wide with a gentle nudge from each hand. She blew a warm breath over Kahlan’s exposed flesh and the Confessor squirmed and gasped. A teasing swipe of Cara’s tongue through her folds made Kahlan growl in frustration.  
  
“Don’t…make…me…beg,” Kahlan choked out.  
  
A cocky smile spread across Cara’s face, but she yielded to Kahlan’s demand. Her tongue traced over every ridge and fold of Kahlan’s sex, tasting the sweet, musky flavor of her lover’s juices. Her lips closed over Kahlan’s clit, her tongue circling and flicking the hard nub. Kahlan writhed under Cara’s touch, her breaths coming in hard, shallow bursts. Cara purred with pleasure as Kahlan’s fingers wrapped themselves in Cara’s hair, holding Cara’s head even closer. Kahlan’s moans grew louder and Cara knew her lover was almost at her peak. With a practiced ease, Cara slid two fingers into Kahlan, curling her fingers in just the right way to bring Kahlan over the edge. Kahlan came, crying out Cara’s name over and over, her hips lifted off the bed.  
  
Finally, Kahlan collapsed, weak and spent. Cara moved up to lay by her side, her arm thrown protectively over the Confessor’s torso and her leg across Kahlan’s thighs. Opening her eyes blearily, Kahlan sighed with contentment and turned her head to face Cara.  
  
“I don’t know how you always manage to do that, but I’m not complaining,” Kahlan remarked sleepily. “Give me a minute and then I’ll be ready to return the favor.”  
  
Cara brushed a thumb over Kahlan’s lips before reaching across Kahlan for the key to the Rada’Han. As gently as she could she slipped the collar away from Kahlan’s throat.  
  
“You should sleep,” Cara stated firmly.  
  
“But how can I return the favor if I’m asleep?” teased Kahlan. Cara could tell the Confessor was struggling to stay awake and the Mord’Sith allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk.  
  
“Oh, that was no favor, Mother Confessor. I expect full payment for my services, plus interest, in the morning.”  
  
“Alright, it’s a deal,” Kahlan mumbled. Her eyes had already closed again and her breathing was becoming slow and steady. Within minutes she was sound asleep. Cara stayed awake for a long time, watching the rise and fall of Kahlan’s chest.  
  
***  
  
An incessant pounding on their door woke Cara and Kahlan before dawn. Pausing only to slip on a thin shift, Cara grabbed an agiel and stalked to the door. She glanced over her shoulder to confirm that Kahlan was likewise adequately covered. The Mother Confessor already had one of her razor sharp daggers in her hand and was reaching for the other. With a nod from Kahlan, Cara threw the door wide, her agiel at the ready. Her blazing eyes met with the terrified ones of a young Home Guard Captain caught in mid-knock. He quailed at the sight of the furious Mord’Sith.  
  
“What is it?” Cara snarled.  
  
The captain looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but standing in front an angry, half-dressed Mord’Sith, but he kept his voice steady. “Mistress Cara, Mother Confessor, there’s an army at the front gate. General Etiel sent me to get you right away.”  
  
“How in the Keeper’s name did an army appear on our doorstep without us knowing it, Captain?”  
  
“I have no idea, Mistress. They weren’t there during the last patrol. They just…appeared.”  
  
“Armies don’t just pop out of thin air. Somebody missed something.” Cara’s tone left no doubt that somebody should hope that she didn’t get a hold of them.  
  
“No, Mistress, they don’t, but I was on patrol right where the army was first spotted not half a candlemark before we saw them. I promise you they were not there.”  
  
“How many are there?”  
  
“Not many – a few hundred at most. Mounted riders. No insignia that we can see.”  
  
Kahlan appeared over Cara’s shoulder. “Who would be foolish enough to attempt an attack on Aydindril with only a few hundred men? That makes no sense. The battle would be over before it started.”  
  
The captain’s attention snapped to the Mother Confessor. “I don’t understand it myself, Mother Confessor. And they haven’t attacked yet. They’re just standing there, as if waiting for something.”  
  
Cara gave him a hard look. With the hand holding the agiel, she pointed a finger at him.  
  
“Ten minutes, in the stables. My horse better be saddled and ready to ride. Understood?”  
  
The captain clapped a fist over his heart and bowed. “Right away, Mistress.”  
  
Cara spun on her heel. Before Cara could even find her leathers, Kahlan was half way into her clothes already and was pulling her Confessor’s dress over her head.  
  
“I’ll ride with you,” Kahlan said hurriedly, her voice muffled by the fabric over her face.  
  
“No!” Cara replied sharply, too sharply. She winced inwardly at the sound.  
  
As the dress settled around Kahlan’s shoulders, her eyes glowed with fury. Her voice was cold when she responded. “You dare tell me not to see what army threatens my city?”  
  
“Kahlan, that’s not what I meant,” Cara tried again. “I just meant that I think it’s best that you, the Mother Confessor, command from here until we know who or what we’re dealing with. The palace guards will need to be alerted, defenses organized. The Councilors must be told. Somebody needs to find Zedd.”  
  
The edges of Kahlan’s mouth began to soften a little, but Cara could still see the anger brimming in her eyes. Though some part of her knew it would only make things worse, Cara let her exasperation show and she rolled her eyes. She knew full well that Kahlan had stared down more than one army before, but there was no cause to put the Mother Confessor in harm’s way needlessly.  
  
“It is my duty to protect my people,” snapped Kahlan.  
  
“A duty you can fulfill just as well from the Confessors Palace as from the city walls,” argued Cara as she tugged on her leathers.  
  
“I will not hide behind the palace guards while some army storms Aydindril. I have been driven from this city once before and it will not happen again.”  
  
After violently yanking on her boots, Cara stood to face Kahlan, her hands on her hips. “No one is asking you to sit idly by while your people are slaughtered. There hasn’t even been an attack yet. I’m just asking that you give me the time to figure out what is going on. Something is clearly amiss if our scouts missed three hundred riders until they were practically on top of us. I will send word immediately once I understand what’s happening.”  
  
Cara could see Kahlan considering her words. No doubt the Confessor was still angry with her, but Cara hoped the logic of her argument would be more persuasive than Kahlan’s wrath.  
  
Finally the Mother Confessor spoke, “Unless attacked first, you will take no action. You will report directly to me as soon as possible.”  
  
“Yes, my Lady,” replied Cara with careful obedience, relieved.  
  
“And you will see to it that your arrogant, insufferable, sorry hide makes it back to me in one piece,” Kahlan continued.  
  
“Do you even question it?” smirked Cara.  
  
Kahlan approached Cara with an odd look in her eyes. She grabbed Cara roughly by the nape of the neck and pressed her own forehead to Cara’s.  
  
“I question it all the time. Please be careful.” Kahlan’s voice was husky.  
  
“Only if you do the same,” growled Cara. They shared a brief, bruising kiss and then they were both gone, the Mord’Sith disappearing in one direction, the Mother Confessor in another.  
  
***  
  
When Cara reached the palace stables she found three horses awaiting her. Her own black stallion stood ready, awaiting his rider, the captain sat astride a gray courser, and a familiar figure straddled a chestnut mare.  
  
“I don’t think this ride requires a blacksmith,” Cara called out to Belle as she came in sight.  
  
“I heard the ruckus the captain’s arrival caused when he galloped by the smithy. I figured I would ride along and see what all the fuss was about,” answered Belle cheerfully.  
  
“You’re no soldier.”  
  
“And as far as I know there’s no battle yet. What’s the harm in taking a look?”  
  
Cara shook her head furiously. _What was wrong with everyone this morning?_ She had no time to debate with the fool woman after wasting time arguing with the Mother Confessor.  
  
“Fine, but keep up,” Cara shot back as she mounted her horse, “and if fighting does break out, don’t be daft enough to try and help. You’ll only get in the way and probably get yourself killed.”  
  
With that Cara spurred her horse forward at a sharp command, leaving the captain and Belle scrambling to catch up. They rode at a full gallop down the empty streets of Aydindril, the hot breath of the horses turning to steam in the cool morning air. The hooves of the horses clattered over cobblestone, the staccato sound puncturing the peace of the sleeping city. Cara reined in her stallion as they drew up to the main gates of Aydindril. She knew she was only seeing the massive oak and iron doors of the inner wall. Beyond these doors lay a second set, framed by a towering stone arch. Both sets of doors remained closed at night. There were other, smaller entrances through which merchants and guards could pass through at night if need be, but the broad main road into Aydindril was sealed each night at sunset and stayed close until sunrise.  
  
Taking steps two at a time, Cara scaled the inner wall, Belle close on her heels. She strode across one of the gangways that attached the inner wall to the outer wall. In case the outer wall was breached the gangways could be pulled back to the inner wall, forcing any invaders to either create their own and risk having them be knocked down by the city’s defenders as they attempted to cross, or enter the rift between the two walls where archers could rain down death upon them from both the top of the inner wall and arrow slits placed throughout the wall. Cara was gratified to find the outer wall lined with archers standing at the ready. Cara approached the hulking form of General Etiel where he stood directly atop the arch over the main gate, his cold gray eyes gazing out at the road below him.   
  
General Etiel was a loyal, war-hardened veteran of the Midlands’ war with D’Hara, even if his leadership was a bit uninspired, in Cara’s opinion. He was not happy serving under a D’Haran Mord’Sith, but he had made it clear that he respected the Mother Confessor’s word as law and would abide by her appointment of Cara as head of the Home Guard.  
  
Without turning, he acknowledged Cara. “Mistress Cara, it seems we have visitors.”   
  
“Indeed,” remarked Cara. “And have our guests decided to announce themselves?”  
  
“Not as of yet.”  
  
In the gray pre-dawn light, Cara could make out armored riders loosely organized on the road just outside the gates. The thin morning mist, so common to spring in Aydindril, swirled about the legs of their mounts and softened their outline, giving the would-be invaders an almost ethereal appearance. There seemed to be no order or rank amongst them and their armor varied from rider to rider. She saw D’Haran craftsmanship mixed with pieces that clearly bore the mark of the Midlands. Some of the warriors’ mail even seemed to have the exotic look of the Old World about them. The men’s choice of weapons appeared as diverse as their taste in armor. She saw long swords and short, spears and maces, axes and morning stars. Not one, however, carried a shield. Apparently they were either too foolish or too brave to think they needed the additional protection.  
  
“What have they been doing then?”  
  
“That’s the strange thing. They haven’t been doing anything at all. They galloped up to the main gate and then just stopped. They’ve been like that since they arrived. We’ve called down to them, asked them their business, told them to clear the road, but they don’t respond. Not a word. Not even among themselves. Every once in awhile one will look over their shoulder like they’re looking for something, but other than that they’re just sitting there.”  
  
“And you’ve checked the perimeter of the city and there’s no other sign of anything strange?”  
  
“Of course we checked. We haven’t found a thing.” The General shrugged. “I can’t figure it out.”  
  
Cara felt an odd tension rising in her, a kind of nauseous anticipation that twisted her gut. For weeks, things had been off. Now armed men had shown up without warning at the gates of Aydindril, only to sit as mute as spirits just beyond the walls. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. There was danger here, but she was uncertain what it was. Here was the calm, but where was the storm? Cara turned the series of strange events over in her mind, trying yet again to see it from every angle, to find the missing pieces.  
  
“General, double the guards at every entrance into the city. Make sure the mounted battalions are ready within the hour. Alert the palace that there needs to be no fewer than four guards with the Mother Confessor at all times until we get this sorted out.”  
  
General Etiel nodded and turned to his lieutenants to assure that Cara’s orders were carried out. The sun broke over the eastern horizon. Beside Cara, Belle fidgeted with something in her pack. The blacksmith pulled out a long leather tube, narrow at one end, wider at the other. Cara thought she caught the glint of glass on the narrow end before Belle pressed it to her eye.  
  
“Another one of your inventions?” asked Cara, one eyebrow arched in curiosity.  
  
“Yes. It lets me see farther than any human eye could. It magnifies faraway objects, making them visible,” answered Belle.   
  
“Convenient, especially in a situation like now. Perhaps you could have mentioned this before now.” Cara’s voice suggested Belle should have mentioned it a long time before now.  
  
“You didn’t ask. It’s not a weapon, after all.”  
  
Cara snorted and surveyed the plains that Belle was scanning. Other than the men below, little seemed out of place. “And what is it you see through your invention?”  
  
Belle did not answer.  
  
Cara turned to her. The blacksmith had gone white and was trembling. Her invention shook in her hands.  
“Belle?”  
  
Without a word, Belle handed Cara the instrument. Cara raised it to her eye. At first the effect was confusing as objects jumped suddenly closer, but Cara oriented herself quickly. A sweep of the plain revealed nothing.  
  
“I don’t see anything,” said Cara irritably, her brows knitted in confusion.  
  
“Not down there,” replied Belle, still quite pale. Her voice quavered. She pointed somewhere in the sky. “Up there.”  
  
Bringing the instrument up again, Cara looked in the direction of Belle’s finger. At first there was nothing but pale blue sky and the occasional cloud. Then she saw it. Her heart skipped a beat. Not trusting her first inclination, Cara looked away and then looked back. It was still there and getting closer. What had started out as an indistinct blob of red began to take on definition and now Cara could most certainly make out a pair of huge wings with an enormous tail trailing behind.  
  
Cara swept the skies a second time, and more blobs started to form out of the backdrop of naked sky. She counted, counted again, and, as if her brain was slow to comprehend what her eyes were telling her, she counted a third time.  
  
“Six. There’s six,” she whispered almost inaudibly. She stared at Belle for a moment, who stared back at her with eyes filling with fear. It was as if the two of them were momentarily struck dumb. Cara could feel a black pit open up in her belly, threatening to swallow her, as her world tilted crazily on its axis. Then Belle blinked. At once, reality seemed to snap back into place and Cara grabbed the General’s arm with an iron grip.  
  
“General, you need to get your men off this wall - _right now_ ,” ordered Cara.   
  
“What? Why?”  
  
Cara answered, her voice steely and deadly calm.  
  
“Dragons.”


	4. Aydindril Alight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While dragons attack Aydindril, Cara and Belle make their way back to the Confessor’s Palace, while Kahlan tries to find Zedd.

Confusion spread atop the wall as word of dragons raced down the line of archers. Some soldiers began to move towards the gangways while others peered out into the sky in disbelief. Voices rose in excited conversation. Then one of the archers caught sight of a speck in the sky and shouted, pointing in its direction. The speck was growing in size and moving toward them rapidly, followed by more distant dots. As the outlines of wings became clear to everyone on the wall, confusion devolved into chaos. Archers began to run in every direction. Cara bellowed to make herself heard above the din of panicking soldiers.  
  
“Everyone clear the wall! MOVE!”  
  
She turned to find Belle still staring at the incoming creatures, the blacksmith’s mouth agape and her eyes wide with wonder and terror. Cara gave the blacksmith a hard shove in the direction of the nearest gangway. The shove propelled Belle into motion and she began to run, Cara and the General following closely.  
  
“I don’t understand,” shouted General Etiel. “I’ve never heard of red dragons fighting the wars of men. A red dragon hasn’t been seen in this land in a thousand years and now there are six! What in the Keeper’s name is going on?!”  
  
“I don’t bloody well know, but I think we’re about to find out,” Cara called back, her hand on Belle’s shoulder, forcing the blacksmith to go even faster. The Mord’Sith’s only thought was to get to the horses and get back to the Mother Confessor. They were a third of the way down the stairs of the inner wall when the first dragon reached the gates. Cara dared not look up, but she could hear the terrified scream of men and the swish of gigantic leathery wings cutting the air overhead. The stairs shook as the beast lowered its massive weight down atop the wall. Cara heard the intake of breath into enormous lungs. She spotted one of the alcoves used for the arrow slits just two steps down. Cara shoved Belle roughly inside, cramming in behind her.  
  
The roar of the dragon’s fire sounded like an avalanche sweeping down a mountain, and brilliant jets of orange and yellow flame streaked down the wall past their meager shelter. Cara and Belle squeezed as far as they could into the tiny space meant for a single man, shrinking away from the storm of fire and sound. The force of the dragon’s exhalation whipped up a fierce wind that tore at their hair and clothing. The stone overhead warmed alarmingly, but it protected them nonetheless. General Etiel was not so lucky – he was caught on the open stairs and he was blasted away when the fire hit him, his body plummeting from the stairs to the ground far below. If he screamed Cara could not hear it over the deafening tumult. The heat was intense and though the flames did not touch them, Cara could feel the side of her face nearest the fire begin to redden and burn.   
  
As soon as it began it seemed to end. The noise and the flames disappeared. The screams of the dying flooded the sudden silence. The acrid stench of burning flesh assaulted Cara’s nostrils. Her stomach lurched, but there was nothing she could do for those men now. She must get to the Palace.  
  
Peering out from under their tiny bit of cover, Cara chanced a glance up the wall. The dragon must have pivoted its position, because instead of the huge head she had been expecting, all she could see was a long, sinewy, crimson tail thrashing the air.  
  
“Go now!” she said, grabbing at Belle’s tunic. They scrambled down the last of the stairs. Cara felt naked and exposed on the wall. More roars followed as other dragons landed, but the creatures’ attention focused on the defenders atop the wall. As Cara and Belle neared the bottom of the stairs, the earth beneath their feet heaved, and chunks of mortar rained down around them. Belle stumbled as the ground lurched. Cara narrowly dodged a slab of stone the size of her head as it flew past and shattered at her feet. A tremendous crash, followed by another, filled the air. The wall shuddered with each booming impact.  
  
“They’re breaking down the city gates,” remarked Cara, her voice sounding remote even to her own ears. Another crash split the air, followed by the screech of metal protesting as the outer gates gave way.  
  
“The Spirits have mercy,” whispered Belle as her eyes roamed not over the gates, but around the city sprawled out in front of them. “The city will be unprotected. All these people.”  
  
“I know.” Cara’s voice was grim. “There’s no time to warn them. We need to get to the Mother Confessor. We need to get her out of Aydindril.”  
  
The horses whinnied in panic, tugging against the straps that tied them to the hitching post. With a quick slice from a dagger she kept hidden in her boot, Cara cut away the knots restraining them, grabbing the reins before the horses bolted. She vaulted onto her horse and jammed her heels into his sides. He leapt forward in fright. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Belle was behind her on the chestnut mare. As they raced up the streets to the Palace, Cara could see the faces of people peering fearfully out windows and open doorways, their mouths slack with shock as the Mord’Sith and her companion barreled past. She could do no more for them than the soldiers on the wall, and the thought sickened her, but she forced the feeling from her mind. She tightened her grip on the reins and urged her steed to fly. Her focus was on only one woman.  
  
A large shadow swooped low over them, blotting out the sky overhead. Cara wheeled her mount about, forcing him down a side street and away from the dragon’s fire that she assumed would follow. Instead arrows rained down from above, clattering against cobblestones and buildings. One arrow whizzed by so close that Cara could hear it rush past her ear. Cara’s eyes followed the dragon as it made its way for the Confessors Palace. The crimson scales on its back, head, and tail contrasted with the brighter flame red of the scales covering its underbelly. Powerful muscles rippled in its shoulders as its broad wings lifted and fell. A massive collar wrapped around its neck, as thick around as a man. _What dragon would suffer a collar?_ From what Cara knew of red dragons, which was precious little, they were incredibly independent and disdainful of humankind. Yet, incongruously, atop the dragon moved creatures far more familiar to Cara.  
  
“There are men on that dragon,” she spat out. Her voice seethed with rage. “I may not know how to kill a dragon, but I know what to do with men.”  
  
A jerk of the reins and she gained the main road again, Belle following in her wake.  
  
***  
  
Atop a turret at the Confessors Palace, Kahlan watched with dread as black, oily smoke billowed above the main gates. _Dragons, here in Aydindril._ She would not have believed it if she could not see the winged monsters for herself, wheeling in the sky and unleashing fiery destruction on the forces stationed at the wall. _Cara’s down there somewhere._ Her heart clenched for a moment, but she shook her head. Now was not the time – her people needed her to lead. She must see Zedd. No conventional weapon was going to stop this assault. She needed the wizard’s magic.  
  
“Follow me,” she ordered to the two guards stationed close to her. She had already ordered the rest of the Home Guard officers to evacuate the city and the Councilors, but she begrudgingly accepted the protection that her military advisors had insisted she keep. They snapped to attention and scurried after her as she strode toward the stairs. She had almost reached them when one of the guards caught her attention.  
  
“Mother Confessor, look.” Two of the dragons had broken off from the massacre at the wall and were headed straight for the Confessors Palace.  
  
“Get below,” ordered Kahlan as she plunged through the stone archway. As she and the guards raced down stairs and along corridors she threw quick glances out the windows they passed. The dragons hovered over the Palace and dark shapes dropped from their scaly backs into the courtyards below. Other figures fired arrows down on the Palace’s defenders from atop their winged mounts. She could hear the sounds of battle growing louder.  
  
“Watch out, Mother Confessor!” yelled one of the guards as two man came rushing down the corridor at them, swords drawn. The first attacker went down under the guard’s blades, but the second barreled past the soldiers, bringing his sword around in a ferocious backswing. Kahlan countered the blow with her daggers and whirled beneath his arm, her white dress fluttering behind her. She struck as swiftly as a snake, her hand finding his throat. Thunder without sound reverberated through the corridor and menacing black swirled in her eyes. The man’s eyes became inky pools as he slid to his knees before her.  
  
“Command me, Confessor,” he said reverently as the black faded from his eyes.  
  
“Who are you and what do you want?” snapped Kahlan, her blue eyes cold and bright.  
  
“I am Captain Somerset, formerly of the Dragon Corps. I joined Wizard Prentax a few months ago when he promised that he would bring down the Mother Confessor. Forgive me, Mistress,” he begged.  
  
“Who is Prentax?” pressed Kahlan.  
  
“He is a wizard of the Old World. He controls the dragons and he cast the concealment spells that allowed us to approach Aydindril undetected. He wants to rule in your place. He says you are too weak to command both the Midlands and D’Hara. He wishes to conquer and unite the lands.”  
  
“They are already united under my rule,” snapped Kahlan.  
  
“There are Mord’Sith and Dragon Corps officers who do not see it that way, my Lady. Let me fight them for you. I will lay their bodies at your feet.” The man’s eyes shone with the unnatural devotion of confession.  
  
“You will protect us while we make our way to the Wizard’s Keep,” Kahlan commanded. “I need to see the First Wizard.”  
  
Somerset scrambled to his feet and led the way, shielding the Mother Confessor with his body. The guards followed close behind, protecting their flank. Their small band progressed slowly, fighting to gain ground. Skirmishes had broken out all over the palace as invaders dropped from the dragons and scattered in small squads throughout the palace grounds. Two more dragons had arrived, delivering additional reinforcements of rebel warriors. The palace was under siege from all directions at once. The only mercy was that the dragons were not using their breath to scorch the castle. Instead they picked off the Home Guard in ones and twos, snatching the soldiers up in wicked, curved claws, crushing them, and letting their lifeless bodies drop to back to the ground.  
  
“Why aren’t the dragons using their fire?” asked Kahlan. She felt both perplexed and disgusted by the dragons’ behavior, yet oddly thankful. None of them would have been safe from their flames. Her troop had made it down to the ground floor of the Palace, but now they paused for a moment to decide how they could leave the palace safely. The four of them crouched behind an archway leading to the central courtyard, beyond which lay the main gates.   
  
The Confessor watched helplessly as one of the dragons dove onto a small battalion of Home Guard that had formed a tight defensive knot in the center of the yard. Several archers fired on the dragon, but their arrows bounced uselessly off the thick, scaly hide. As she heard their screams of pain and terror, it was all she could do not to run to her men, to fight beside them. The group of soldiers broke rank and ran for cover, only to be set upon by the invading warriors waiting in the shadows. She bit the inside of her cheek in anguish and frustration as they were cut down, and she could taste the coppery flavor of her own blood.  
  
Somerset replied, “The wizard ordered that the Palace be kept intact. He wishes to rule from Aydindril, from the First Chair. Just as he wished that you be taken alive.”  
  
“But you tried to kill me!”  
  
“I am truly sorry for that, Mistress. I acted against orders. I believed that we were all better off with you dead.” He hung his head in shame at his own words. Shame Kahlan knew very well that he would not feel if not for the confession. She dismissed his contrition with an impatient wave.  
  
“There is a secret passage at the end of the east corridor which should get us to the outer wall of the Palace. Though it’s a longer way to the Wizard’s Keep, we can’t risk being caught in the open with those - _things_.” She bit down on the last word. Aydindril was falling and it seemed she was utterly incapable of doing anything about it. “We’re losing time. Keep moving.”  
  
“Yes, Mistress.”  
  
As they rose to leave, four Home Guard stumbled through the archway, having managed to escape both the dragons and the attackers. Each gave a quick salute to the Mother Confessor, hand over his heart. They were battered and bruised, their faces dirty with sweat and grime, their expressions haggard. One man bled profusely from a cut on his arm, while another sported a deep gash across his forehead. Yet the sight of the Mother Confessor seemed to revitalize them.  
  
Kahlan looked each man in the eye, studying each one, knowing it was likely the last time she would see any of them alive. When she spoke her voice was impassive and clear, with no sign of the sympathy she felt for each of them.  
  
“You will stay here and guard our flank. You will allow no one to pass.”  
  
“Yes, Mother Confessor!” they cried in unison. Without a second look, the Mother Confessor turned to go.   
  
***  
  
Cara’s heart sank as she brought her horse to halt just outside the main gates of the Palace. Four dragons circled overhead, almost lazily, one occasionally dropping then rising again. A melee filled the wide courtyard beyond the gates, the sounds of shouts and clashing metal reverberating off the Palace walls. How in the Underworld was she going to find Kahlan in this mess? She knew Kahlan would want to fight, but Kahlan was not foolish. The Mother Confessor would know she was out-matched and would be looking for a way to turn the situation around. That led to the wizard. He would know what to do about dragons, if anyone in Aydindril did. But would Kahlan have managed to get to the Wizard’s Keep already?   
Cara chewed her lip in a second of indecision, and then rolled her shoulders, as if shrugging off her doubts. There was only one way to find out where Kahlan was and it was through those gates. Her hand went to one of her agiels and the weapon whined under her touch, sending a comforting jolt of pain up her arm. The familiar calm of cold fury built up inside of her, the thrill of anticipation for the fight igniting her nerve endings. She drew the agiel from its sheath. She may not have understood many things in this life, but she had been trained for battle since she was a child. She welcomed it like an old friend.  
  
With a sharp cry, she urged her horse forward, her eyes focused on the doors of the hall beyond the courtyard. The stallion shot through the gates, knocking aside anyone in his path, Home Guard and invader alike. She fiercely swung her agiel at any attacker that dared approach. For the space of a breath she thought she would make it unscathed, but then she heard the dragon roar above her. She dove from her horse and rolled to her feet just in time to see the steed being swept up into the sky, screaming and whinnying in terror. The downdraft from the dragon’s wingbeats threw dust in the air and sent it swirling around Cara. She shielded her eyes, coughing.  
  
Almost instantly, four men surrounded her. She reached for her other agiel. Two lunged for her at once, but she twisted away from the axe of the first while bringing an agiel up into the solar plexus of the second. He screamed as his veins turned black with the agiel’s magic. He dropped dead as Cara spun to block a blow from the sword of the third man. A kick to his gut sent him spinning away and Cara ducked as the axe of the first attacker sliced through the air over her head. She brought a fist up under his jaw, and he grunted as he fell, but before she could deliver the killing blow the remaining warrior stabbed at her with his short sword. She barely had time to side-step the lunge, as she used his momentum against him. He stepped too far and she spun around behind him, jamming both her agiels into his back. His body jerked as if electrified, then fell to the ground.  
  
“Cara!”  
  
The warning sounded behind her and she whirled around. The man she had kicked away was bringing his sword down from over his head. She raised her agiels, preparing for the blow. Suddenly he stumbled forward half a step, and the sword dropped from his hands in mid-stroke. Cara watched as his eyes went wide and then closed as the life drained from them. His limp body slumped to the ground, a hatchet buried in the back of his skull. Behind him stood Belle, her blacksmith hammer in her left hand, a mix of shock and pride at her own act mingling in her eyes. Cara knew the feeling well – the rush of conquering an enemy, of still being alive when others were dead.  
  
“You always said I was hopeless with a sword anyway.” Belle gave Cara a lopsided half-smile as she retrieved the hatchet. Cara rewarded her with a quick nod and feral grin.  
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
The two women fought their way into the hall, Cara’s agiels singing and whining as she brought them down again and again. Beside her Belle panted from effort and adrenaline, a trickle of blood dripping from her temple where she had been nicked and her sleeve sliced open from a dagger’s glancing blow, but the blacksmith held her own. At some point, they were joined by two of the Home Guard and soon there was no one left to fight, at least for a moment.  
  
“Report, lieutenant,” ordered Cara.  
  
“The Mother Confessor ordered us to stay here to guard her retreat to the Wizard’s Keep. She left only a few minutes ago. There were four of us, but we’ve lost two already.”  
  
Cara’s heart soared. Kahlan was alive.  
  
“Which way did she go?”  
  
“She headed down that way.” Cara followed the direction of his finger. She knew where that corridor led. She had made it a point of learning all the secret passages of the Confessors Palace. She opened her mouth to issue new orders, but the twang of a crossbow cut her off.  
  
The lieutenant grabbed his throat with both hands, the crossbow bolt jutting out from his adam’s apple, blood pouring out from between his fingers. Cara spun about just in time to hear the second crossbow fire. The bolt hit her square in the meat of her left shoulder, sending her back a couple of paces. She grunted as pain seared down her arm. It hurt, but she’d had worse, and she glared at the three men advancing on them from across the hall.  
  
“Belle, go down the west corridor. Behind the statue of Magda Searus there is a secret passage. Press the top left brick on the south face of the statue’s pedestal. It will open the trap door for you. Find Kahlan. Get her to the wizard.”  
  
“What about you?” asked Belle, a look of concern on her face. The blacksmith’s eyes dropped to Cara’s shoulder, the bolt still sticking out of it.  
  
“I’m fine.” Cara grabbed the bolt and yanked it out, a sneer of contempt on her lips. A mere trickle of blood confirmed that no major arteries had been hit. She examined the quarrel in her hand. The bolt was the compact design of the Midlands, sleek, with a narrow, heavy head effective at piercing ring-mail. She herself would have used the barbed heads of D’Hara – less efficient against armor, but far more damaging to flesh going in and practically impossible to remove without a healer’s knife. She tossed the bolt aside and looked at the last remaining Home Guard soldier, who was bracing for the next attack. “We’ll stay here, give you and the Mother Confessor a little more time. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”  
  
“But -“   
  
“Get out of here!” roared Cara. Then the feral grin returned to her face as she turned to face the oncoming men, her agiels humming in her hands. “These men are mine.”  
  
***  
  
Outside the walls of the Palace, an eerie calm draped itself over Aydindril. Ash fell like snow, smudging the white of Kahlan’s dress, as she and her men hurried up the hill to the Wizard’s Keep. Sorrow pierced her heart, for she knew that the fires must have spread beyond the walls and into the city if they were producing this much soot. Aydindril was burning. Her people were dying.   
  
The men surrounding her were wary, expecting to be attacked at any moment, but nothing impeded their progress as they climbed higher and higher. They were nearly to the Keep, when Kahlan heard the pounding of footfalls behind them. She gripped her daggers tighter as she and her men turned to face the new threat, only to find a familiar figure sprinting up the hill. When she reached them, Belle bowed quickly to the Mother Confessor.  
  
“Mother Confessor, Cara sent me,” she blurted out. “She said I should make sure that you got to Zedd.”  
  
“Where is she? Why isn’t she with you?”  
  
“We were attacked. She stayed back to give us more time. She said she’d be along soon.”  
  
“Be along soon?” Kahlan asked incredulously. Kahlan was at once relieved and furious. Her lover was still alive, but in danger. So typical of Cara, to risk her life without a second’s thought and to act as if it were a mere errand that she had to fit in somewhere between eating breakfast and paperwork. Without thinking, Kahlan started back down the hill, but Belle stepped in front of her.  
  
“I know I haven’t known her as long as you have, Mother Confessor, but I’m pretty sure Cara will have my head if I don’t get you to the Wizard’s Keep. Besides, the Mord’Sith has probably finished bashing in heads by now and will be coming up that hill any moment.” Belle’s grim humor fell flat. Kahlan hesitated. She could tell that the blacksmith was almost as worried about Cara as she was, but she also knew Cara would want Kahlan to find a way to stop the attack. That meant finding Zedd. Her mind was made up for her when she heard her name shouted from the top of the hill. Kahlan could see the lanky silhouette of Zedd waving excitedly at her, framed by the towering Keep behind him. He called her name again, beckoning her.  
  
Kahlan scrambled up the final rise of the hill, her small troop behind her. Zedd gathered her up in a brief, fierce embrace.  
  
“Thank the Spirits you’re alive. I wanted to come find you as soon as the attack started but I needed to find this.” His gravelly voice sounded weary with worry.  
  
The wizard held up a large flat amulet, round as a coin but as big as Kahlan’s palm. Intricate lines weaved over and under one another on the silver surface of the medallion. Kahlan looked at the Zedd expectantly.  
  
“What does it do? Can we stop the dragons with it?”  
  
“Bags, no! I’m afraid I don’t know of any way to stop six dragons. Even one would be a challenge for a Wizard of the First Order, but six is well beyond my powers. I’m sorry, Kahlan.” He rested a spindly, sympathetic hand on her shoulder.  
  
“But this –,” she started.  
  
“- is the Amulet of Ishaia. It is the sister to the Oleron’s Amulet, but instead of delivering the Mother Confessor to Aydindril from anywhere in the world, it delivers her to a place safe from Aydindril. Unfortunately, like Oleron’s Amulet, it is only powerful enough for the Mother Confessor and her wizard,” answered Zedd.  
  
Kahlan jerked back from his hand, her face a mask of disbelief. “Zedd, no! I will not leave Aydindril. People are dying. I will not run. And I…we can’t leave –“  
  
“- Cara?” he asked gently, but the edges of his mouth tightened for a moment as if he were irritated. “And what would Cara have to say about that? She would know that the Mother Confessor is more important than all of us. That as long as the Mother Confessor survives, there is hope for Aydindril and the Midlands.”   
  
“Zedd, do you know what you’re asking me to do? I have fled this city once before, when Darken Rahl conquered the Midlands. How can you expect me to abandon Aydindril again?” Kahlan argued, her tone tense with anger and a trace of desperate agony. She felt as if leaving her home - and her lover - would cost her nothing less than her soul.  
  
“It will be only for a short time, child. We will raise the armies of D’Hara and Midlands and retake the city. There are other libraries of magic that will help me figure out what to do about those dragons. If there was any other way, Kahlan, you know I would try.” Kahlan could see the truth in his sad eyes, though she greatly wished she didn’t. Zedd had walked away from his home and his family for over twenty years to save the life of his grandson, the new Seeker – he more than anyone knew what he was asking of her. Yet her heart battled her mind for the upper hand inside her.  
  
“Whatever you decide to do, Mother Confessor, I suggest you do it inside,” interjected Belle. “We’re going to have company soon.”   
  
Enemy riders were galloping up the hill, their horses frothing at the mouth from being pushed hard. The Home Guard soldiers and Somerset took up defensive positions, readying themselves. Zedd grabbed Kahlan’s wrist and tugged her into the Keep. She started to protest and struggle, but Belle grabbed her other arm. Together, the wizard and the blacksmith dragged her farther into the fortress.  
  
“Get your hands off me!” Kahlan yelled.  
  
Belle complied, releasing the Confessor’s arm, only to grab her shoulders and give her a hard shake. Kahlan stared at the blacksmith, each eying the other as if she’d gone mad.  
  
“Please, Mother Confessor, you must go. This is the only way to help Aydindril. We’ll fight as long as we can, but we need you to stay alive. Please!” Belle pleaded. Kahlan gritted her teeth and nodded, bitter bile rising in the back of her throat.  
  
“I’ll be back,” the Mother Confessor swore. “I’ll be back, and the Creator help me, I will bring these men and their monsters down.”  
  
“Thank you,” Belle replied, relief evident in her voice.   
  
“And Belle…find her for me. Tell her I’ll be back for her.” Kahlan’s voice broke. The blacksmith nodded once and bowed. She left the Keep to join Somerset and the others outside. Zedd barred the door behind her and cast a locking charm over it, sealing himself and Kahlan inside.  
  
Taking one deep, shaky breath, Kahlan held her hand out to Zedd.  
  
“I’m ready.”  
  
The wizard placed the amulet in her palm, covering it with his own hand and closing his eyes. His chanting filled the space, the strange, magical words seeming to draw power from the earth and the air themselves. The amulet became very cold in her hand, so cold it began to burn. It felt as if the silver metal was freezing to her skin, and the chill spread into her wrist and forearm, causing her bones to ache. Zedd’s voice grew louder. The icy thread moved swiftly up Kahlan’s arm. When it reached her heart, the whole world lurched and spun. Bursts of light exploded around her. She felt as if she was forward with great speed and standing still at the same time. The physical world disappeared except for the sensation of freezing amulet and Zedd’s hand in hers. Then even that was ripped away, and the Mother Confessor was falling into blackness.  
  
***  
  
Outside the Wizard’s Keep, time seemed to move in slow motion. Belle watched as the riders crested the hill and pounded toward her and the others. They were out-numbered ten to four. She hefted her hammer in one hand and the hatchet in the other, nervously squeezing the handles in her large hands, palms sweating profusely. She swallowed, her heart hammering in her throat. She had never imagined finding herself doing something like this. A small voice in her head kept repeating the same words over and over – _but I’m just a blacksmith._  
  
The mounted invaders reached the Home Guard troops first. One Home Guard soldier, a young man barely older than a boy, fell before the onslaught, trampled almost instantly. The other, more seasoned soldier managed to drag one of the attackers off his horse, only to be stabbed in the back by another rider. Somerset went down harder. He ducked and weaved, slaying two of the enemy before taking a sword in the gut and a spear through the throat. Then, Belle stood alone, surrounded by eight very dangerous looking men, the Wizard’s Keep at her back.   
  
A rail-thin man with sinewy arms and a shaggy, unkempt beard spoke to the others. “Take her. Prentax wants her alive. Then search the Keep. We’re to capture the wizard and the Confessor, too, if they’re still here.”  
  
Three men dismounted, approaching her slowly. One leered at her, his lecherous grin revealing yellowing, crooked teeth. The second man was a head taller than either of his companions and had a neck as thick as his head. The last man, a scar over his right eye, spoke to her in a high, reedy voice.  
  
“Now, deary, why don’t you put those tools down and come along quietly? They’re hardly proper weapons anyway, and there’s quite a few of us and only one of you. Be reasonable.”  
  
He was right, of course, but his voice sent shivers down her spine and she tightened her grip on her tools. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her heart ricocheted against her ribs like a frightened rabbit. She was alone. There would be no Mord’Sith to guard her back this time. Terrified though she was, they’d still have to come get her. She had no intention of moving.  
  
Bad Teeth struck first. Like most men he underestimated both Belle’s strength and her skill, and a powerful blow with her hammer knocked him out cold, his jaw broken. Scarface and Bull-Neck rushed her together, but she dodged both of them, bringing her hatchet down on Scarface’s knee. He shrieked in pain as he went down. Bull-Neck lumbered after her and more men dismounted with angry shouts. She launched the hatchet, which found its mark in the chest of a swarthy, clean shaven man. She spun around, searching for any gap through which she might escape. She barely blocked the blow of a mace aimed at her head, but as she fell back from that attacker, a giant hand that could only belong to Bull-Neck clamped down on the wrist holding the hammer and a second hand gripped the back of her neck. A sharp kick to the back of her leg sent her to her knees. She felt the hammer yanked from her hand. She looked up to see the gaunt, bearded man approaching, a thin, mirthless smile on his face.  
  
“Good try, blacksmith. I like the fight in you. But what Prentax wants, Prentax gets.”  
  
All Belle could think was that she’d promised the Mother Confessor that she’d find Cara and now she was going to break that promise. Then the bearded soldier’s boot met the side of her head, and she thought nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I couldn’t get these lyrics out of my head while editing this part. So I decided to share: 
> 
> “And the only solution was to stand and fight  
> And my body was bruised and I was set alight  
> But you came over me like some holy rite  
> And although I was burning, you're the only light” – Florence + the Machine


	5. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kahlan finds herself in a very unusual place, Belle has to do some quick thinking, and Cara ends up in some serious trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the all caps on some of the dialogue below. I wrote it in small caps in Word, but I don't know how to translate that - suggestions?

Kahlan startled awake, sitting upright with a jolt. Darkness enveloped her, and she had no idea where she was. Panic started rising in chest.  
  
“Cara! Zedd!” she called out.  
  
She received no answer. She forced herself to breath steadily and focus on the world around her. She sat on warm, firm ground, and she felt leaves and soft moss under her hands. She smelled rich earth and fragrant vegetation. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she realized that there was more light than she had first believed. The sky overhead glittered with stars, more than she had ever seen before. The stars brought her a measure of comfort, as they twinkled and winked above her, countless and peaceful.   
  
As the wave of anxiety receded, Kahlan remembered that Cara wouldn’t be here, and her heart ached ferociously. She felt the sting of tears welling up. Her mind began to wander to what may have happened to Cara, but she shoved those thoughts away. She simply could not comprehend or dwell upon the idea of losing Cara. Instead, she silently asked the Creator to watch over her missing lover. She was sure that Cara would laugh at her prayer, but Kahlan still took comfort in the old ways.   
  
Cara wasn’t here, but where was Zedd? Groping in the dark, she discovered his body lying next to her, unresponsive to her touch. Her breath caught for a moment. She found what she thought was his shoulder and shook it hard.  
  
“Zedd, can you hear me?”  
  
A loud snore answered her. He was asleep! She shook him harder.  
  
“Zedd, wake up! Zedd!”  
  
The wizard grumbled drowsily and rolled away from her. Soon his snores came more regularly, though softer in volume. A sharp poke in the back did nothing to change this. Kahlan was flabbergasted. How could he sleep at a time like this? Why wasn’t he waking up? Zedd was often the first asleep in their journeying days, but he was never so difficult to wake as he was now. She scowled, pondering what to do next. Other sounds soon became apparent. A soft breeze rustled in trees she could not see, and the quiet lapping of water somewhere beyond her feet told her she was near a pond or lake. There were crickets and other animal calls that reminded her of the tiny tree frogs native to the swampy southern forests along the Kern River. But certainly Zedd would not have transported them all the way to the border between the Old and New Worlds?  
  
A pair of birds, the like of which she had never heard before, began to sing nearby, their melodious harmonies warbling and tumbling over one another. However, she heard no sounds of men, save Zedd’s wheezing. As Kahlan continued to cast about for any clue to their location, she slowly became aware of a faint glow around her. At first it was so dim that she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her in the darkness. But as she watched the silvery light became brighter and she realized the trunks of the trees all around her emanated a soft, unearthly radiance. The light was reflected by the inky waters of a lake only a few paces from where she sat. The sight captivated her and she found herself wishing that Cara could be there to share it with.  
  
As Kahlan looked out over the still surface of the lake, a second light appeared in the water. This glow was no reflection though – it came from the lake itself, as if something ghostly were moving through the water. The spot of light moved steadily towards the shore in front of her, growing stronger and more radiant than even the trees. Fear tugged at the edges of her mind, but she found herself unable to move. As she watched in wonder and apprehension, the light began to emerge from the lake, taking on the distinct shape of a deer, white and glimmering with its own luminescence. Though the deer had a majestic sweep of pale antlers, Kahlan somehow knew it was a doe. Water ran off the deer’s snowy fur in rivulets as it stopped before Kahlan, its legs still ankle-deep in the water. It sniffed the air. Large, black eyes stared into Kahlan’s, unblinking and unwavering.  
  
GREETINGS, KAHLAN AMNELL.  
  
The doe had not moved her mouth, but Kahlan heard the deer’s voice in her head. The rich voice was gentle and calm, yet the feeling of power was unmistakable to Kahlan. The air around the deer nearly crackled with invisible forces. Kahlan shivered as she recognized that she was dealing with something very old and very magical.  
  
DO NOT BE AFRAID, MOTHER CONFESSOR. NO HARM WILL COME TO YOU. YOU ARE WELCOME HERE.  
  
“Who are you?” asked Kahlan as she scrambled to her feet. The deer was enormous and even standing Kahlan had to tilt her head up to meet the animal’s eyes.  
  
I AM THE GUARDIAN OF THIS PLACE, the doe answered.  
  
“But where is this?”  
  
THIS IS A WORLD BETWEEN WORLDS. VERY FEW OF YOUR KIND EVER SEE IT.  
  
“My kind? You mean Confessors?”  
  
HUMANS, replied the guardian, shaking its great head and spraying water droplets everywhere. Kahlan unconsciously wiped the mist from her face as she studied the magnificent beast. It inclined its antlers in the direction of the forest. WALK WITH ME.  
  
The deer stepped from the water and slowly made its way towards the trees. Kahlan stayed rooted in place, resisting the temptation to reach out and stroke its fur as it passed.  
  
“What about my friend? I can’t wake him.”  
  
LEAVE HIM. THE WIZARD ZORANDER WILL BE SAFE UNTIL WE RETURN. HE NEEDS TO REST AND REGAIN HIS STRENGTH. WE WILL NOT BE LONG.  
  
Again the voice was kind, but the command was plain. Kahlan sensed no danger from the deer, only power, but the impression was unnerving. She wondered what this being could do to her if she failed to comply, and decided she did not want to find out. She hurried to catch up to the deer, which was disappearing into the trees. The tree trunks shone brighter as the deer passed them, their foliage illuminated. Their leaves were a rich, dark red, instead of the green of normal trees, and their bark was completely smooth, as if sanded down by a carpenter’s hand.   
  
Kahlan placed a hand on one of the trunks. It felt warm, as if the heat came from within the tree. The wood under her hand lit up, ribbons of blue and green light spreading out across the bark. Her fingers tingled pleasantly. She would have stayed there in fascinated silence, but the guardian moved farther into the forest. She removed her hand reluctantly, following the doe.  
  
“Please, I know I am asking a lot of questions, but why are we here? And how do you know who we are?” Kahlan asked as she came even with the deer.  
  
ALL THOSE WHO ENTER MY REALM ARE KNOWN TO ME. THIS PLACE IS A NEXUS, AN INTERSECTION, FOR THE MAGIC THAT FLOWS AMONG MANY WORLDS. YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU WERE CALLED HERE.   
  
“Called? I don’t understand. How were we called?” Kahlan’s confusion was growing. She knew Zedd’s magic was potent, but she couldn’t imagine that the wizard had intended for them to end up in this enchanted world.  
  
As if reading her mind the deer shook her great antlers and said, THIS WAS NOT THE WIZARD’S DOING. THE AMULET CREATED AN OPENING THROUGH WHICH I COULD BRING YOU HERE. THE AMULET WAS DESIGNED FOR ONE PURPOSE – TO BRING THE MOTHER CONFESSOR TO SAFETY. THERE ARE MANY PLACES THAT YOU WOULD BE SAFE, INCLUDING MY WORLD. BUT SAFETY IS NOT THE REASON YOU ARE HERE. I NEEDED TO WARN YOU OF A DANGER IN YOUR WORLD THAT THREATENS MUCH MORE THAN YOU. A DARK WIZARD MEDDLES WITH MAGICAL FORCES HE CANNOT COMPREHEND OR CONTROL. HE MUST BE STOPPED BEFORE HE IRREVOCABLY ALTERS THE MAGICAL BALANCE IN YOUR WORLD. IF HE IS NOT STOPPED THE EFFECTS COULD CASCADE THROUGHOUT MANY WORLDS, THREATENING THEIR VERY EXISTENCE.   
  
“Prentax,” muttered Kahlan darkly. “Our world has faced dark wizards before. What makes Prentax so dangerous?”  
  
HE POSSESSES THE STONES OF SURRENDER. EACH STONE ALLOWS PRENTAX TO BEND AN INDIVIDUAL TO HIS WILL.  
  
“The dragons!” Kahlan exclaimed. “He must have used it on them. Why else would a dragon – let alone six – allow themselves to be used by men?”  
  
PRECISELY. THERE ARE TEN STONES IN ALL. WHEN THEY ARE USED ALL AT ONCE, THE CIRCLE OF THE HANDS IS FORMED. THE CIRCLE ALLOWS THE WIZARD WHO CONTROLS THE STONES TO ABSORB THE HAN OF THE STONES’ BEARERS. PRENTAX WOULD NEED TO KEEP ONE STONE FOR HIMSELF, THE HEART STONE, TO HARNESS THE OTHERS. ALREADY PRENTAX HAS UTILIZED SIX STONES TO CAPTURE THE DRAGONS. I BELIEVE YOU AND THE WIZARD WERE TO BE HIS NEXT TARGETS. WITH YOU UNDER HIS CONTROL, HE NEED ONLY PLACE THE LAST STONE, AND HE WOULD BE ABLE TO DRAIN ALL OF YOU OF YOUR POWERS. VERY FEW WIZARDS IN ALL OF HISTORY HAVE BEEN STRONG ENOUGH TO CONTROL THE HAN OF SUCH VARIED AND IMPRESSIVE SOURCES. PRENTAX IS NOT ONE OF THEM. IF HE WERE TO TRY IT WOULD DESTROY HIM.  
  
“How would that threaten our world, let alone others?” asked Kahlan as she avoided a root across her path. The guardian moved unconcernedly through the forest, each step graceful and sure. Kahlan felt clumsy and awkward beside the deer. The canopy closed overhead and Kahlan lost sight of the stars. She and the doe seemed to be wending their way aimlessly through the forest. The trees pressed close, forcing Kahlan to walk very near the ethereal deer. She could feel waves of energy radiating from the guardian, and once again she was awed by the presence of such ancient magic.   
  
IF IT WERE ONLY THE HAN OF HUMANS HE WAS STEALING, IT WOULD MEAN LITTLE TO ANY WORLD BUT YOUR OWN. THE LOSS OF THE MOTHER CONFESSOR AND THE FIRST WIZARD WOULD BE TRAGIC, BUT NOT IRREPARABLE. IT IS THE TAKING OF THE HAN OF THE DRAGONS THAT WOULD CAUSE PERMANENT HARM.  
  
Kahlan mulled this over. How could the Han of dragons be the source of such disaster? Again the doe answered before Kahlan could voice her thoughts.  
  
MAGIC IS LIKE A RIVER, COURSING THROUGH ALL THE WORLDS, NOURISHING THEM. EVEN THE MOST POWERFUL HUMAN IS NO MORE THAN A TINY STREAM COMPARED TO THE GREAT FLOW OF MAGIC. BUT IN THE END THEY ARE STILL CREATURES OF THEIR PARTICULAR WORLD, AND THE MAGIC FLOWS ONLY ONE WAY – THROUGH THEM INTO THAT ONE WORLD. IN THIS WAY HUMANS MAY POSSESS MAGIC. DRAGONS, HOWEVER, ARE MAGIC. THEIR ENTIRE BEING IS MADE COMPLETELY OF MAGIC, AND BECAUSE OF THIS THEY EXIST IN MANY WORLDS AT THE SAME TIME. THEY ARE ONE OF THE CONDUITS THROUGH WHICH MAGIC CROSSES BACK AND FORTH FROM ONE WORLD TO ANOTHER. TAKING THE HAN OF A DRAGON WOULD DRAIN ITS MAGICAL ENERGY FROM ALL OF THE WORLDS AT ONCE, CAUSING FRACTURES IN THE FLOW OF MAGIC THROUGHOUT THE WORLDS. SOME WORLDS WOULD RECEIVE TOO LITTLE MAGIC AND THEY WOULD WITHER AND DIE. OTHER WORLDS WOULD BE FLOODED WITH MAGIC AND THE RESULTS WOULD BE EQUALLY CATASTROPHIC.  
  
Kahlan halted mid-stride, her mind trying to wrap itself around the guardian’s words. She had been taught about facets of magic since she was a child undergoing her training as a Confessor, but she had never given much thought to the source of it. Dragons had been no more than the stuff of legend and nightmare, but now it turned out that not only her world, but many others, relied on them in ways she’d never imagined. And some blundering son of a shadrin was threatening it all by playing with forces he did not understand. An image of Cara, the Mord’Sith’s jade eyes glittering, flashed through Kahlan’s mind, and a feeling of protectiveness coursed through her.  
  
NOW YOU UNDERSTAND, MOTHER CONFESSOR, WHY PRENTAX MUST BE STOPPED.  
  
Kahlan squared her shoulders and pulled herself to her full height. She met the midnight eyes that seemed to see right through her. Before, she’d been focused on taking her city back from this rogue wizard - and finding her lover. Now both Aydindril and Cara were threatened by something far more dangerous, and she would not fail to protect them both.  
  
“Tell me what I must do.”  
  
YOU MUST KEEP PRENTAX FROM COMPLETING THE CIRCLE. IF HE CANNOT HAVE YOU AND THE WIZARD, HE WILL ENSLAVE OTHERS. DESTROY THE STONES BEFORE HE CAN DO SO.  
  
“How?”  
  
BY DESTROYING THE HEART STONE. ALL THE OTHERS CAN BE REMOVED FROM THEIR BEARERS, AND THEIR HOLD WITH IT, BUT ONLY THE DESTRUCTION OF THE HEART STONE WILL DESTROY THEM.   
  
Pawing at the ground, the great beast snorted. Kahlan’s ears caught the sound of feet scrambling over leaves and she looked around. She was surprised to see that they were back at the edge of the lake. Zedd lay only a few paces away, still snoring softly. Two creatures emerged from the forest and made their way to stand at the feet of the deer. They waited, their small eyes peering up at Kahlan. A third animal swooped in from overhead and landed between the two on the ground.  
  
I GIVE YOU THREE GIFTS TO HELP YOU IN YOUR QUEST. THE FIRST IS THE BADGER. HE IS A FIERCE FIGHTER FOR A FIERCE FOE. REMEMBER THE BADGER IS THE MOST DANGEROUS WHEN DEFENDING HIS HOME.  
  
The first of the three creatures waddled forward. It was indeed a badger, with strong jaws, sharp claws and thick, striped fur. As Kahlan watched in amazement the creature shrank and transformed from flesh into metal. Its four legs curled and merged into two circlets, joined together by a perfect copy of the badger’s back rendered in silver. She scooped up the miniature, metallic badger and examined it.  
  
“What do I do with it?”  
  
YOU WILL KNOW HOW TO USE EACH GIFT WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT. FOR NOW, SIMPLY PUT IT ON.  
  
Kahlan slid the circlets over her left hand and the badger shrank even further, wrapping snugly but comfortably around her wrist. The metal was warm, like the trees had been.  
  
MY SECOND GIFT IS THE SWALLOW, MASTER OF THE AIR. HE WILL QUICKEN THE WIND WHEN NOTHING ELSE CAN.  
  
The small bird fluttered toward her, landing on the toe of her boot. Its iridescent blue back feathers and ruby throat feathers glinted in the glow cast by the deer. It gave a call like drop of water landing in a water-filled basin. Then, the swallow also morphed from feather and bone into gleaming metal – a tiny blue and red pendant on a slender chain. Kahlan picked it up and placed the necklace around her neck.  
  
FINALLY I GIVE YOU THE RABBIT. SHE IS THE BRINGER OF NEW LIFE, TO REPLACE THAT WHICH HAS BEEN LOST.   
  
The last creature slowly hopped out from under the doe. The tiny rabbit stared at her, its small nose twitching. Unlike the others, it did not change. Kahlan waited, but the rabbit stayed a rabbit as it sniffed her boot. Kahlan bent over to touch the diminutive animal. Instead of bolting like a normal rabbit, the creature rubbed its silky, soft head and ears across the back of Kahlan’s hand. Kahlan gently lifted the rabbit in her hands and held it close to her chest. She could feel its heart beating strongly and steadily beneath her fingers as she stroked its fur. Finally, it too transformed from a living rabbit into a small vial filled with a clear, shimmering liquid. The shape of a rabbit was etched in the glass side of vial. Kahlan tucked the vial into a secret pouch sewn into the seam of her dress.  
  
“Thank you for the gifts,” Kahlan said, her gaze returning to the guardian. “Is there nothing else you can tell me to help me prepare?”  
  
UNFORTUNATELY PRENTAX IS A CREATURE OF YOUR WORLD AND I CANNOT EXERT MY FULL POWERS THERE. I WAS NOT ABLE TO DISCOVER MORE THAN I HAVE TOLD YOU. I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO RETURN YOU TO AYDINDRIL. IT MAY STILL BE TOO DANGEROUS FOR YOU THERE YET. I WILL PLACE YOU AS CLOSE AS I DARE AND I WILL SEND GUIDES WITH YOU FOR THE REST OF YOUR WAY.  
  
The doe lifted her head towards the sky and Kahlan followed its gaze. At first all she saw was stars, but then some of the stars seemed to be drawing closer. Soon she heard a soft humming and chirping and a grin spread across her face.  
  
“Night Wisps!” she cried out in joy. There were nearly a dozen of the delicate, shining creatures circling above her excitedly, chattering to her and to each other. Kahlan had learned their magical language long ago, when the tiny beings were some of her only friends in all of the Midlands. Still, a dozen Night Wisps whirring all together were a challenge to comprehend. Kahlan laughed as their tinkling voices cascaded over one another.  
  
“You will have to take turns, my friends. I can hardly understand you when you speak all at once.”  
  
Two Night Wisps landed on her, one on each shoulder. A third hovered in front of her face, humming.  
  
“I’ve missed you, too,” said Kahlan. “But what are you all doing here?”  
  
It was the deer that replied. NIGHT WISPS, LIKE DRAGONS, ARE CREATURES OF MAGIC. THEY COME AND GO FROM THIS WORLD OFTEN AND FREELY. WHEN THEY LEARNED YOU WERE IN DANGER, I COULD NOT STOP THEM FROM COMING TO YOUR AID. IT IS A RARE THING FOR A HUMAN TO EARN SUCH RESPECT FROM THE NIGHT WISPS, AND IT IS PART OF THE REASON THAT I CHOSE YOU FOR THIS TASK.  
  
At the guardian’s words, the Night Wisps swirled as if blown by a great gust, twittering loudly. Kahlan smiled at their eagerness.  
  
IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO GO, KAHLAN AMNELL.  
  
“And Zedd?”  
  
HE WILL RETURN WITH YOU, AND AWAKE WHEN HE IS ONCE AGAIN IN YOUR WORLD.  
  
“How will we get there?”  
  
YOUR WORLD IS ALREADY COMING FOR YOU. TURN AROUND AND SEE.  
  
Kahlan turned to look at the forest behind her. The trees farthest from her seemed to be blinking out. She had the sensation of something creeping toward her. As the darkness drew closer she could see that it wasn’t just that the trees had stopped glowing – it was if they weren’t there at all. In their place a black void spread, stretching toward her. It was as if nothing were there, where only a moment before a whole forest stood, but this nothing had form and substance and it was reaching for her. She shuddered and took a step closer to Zedd’s inert form. She thought of her lover again and she drew strength from the knowledge that, for better or for worse, she would be one step closer to Cara.  
  
Suddenly the black rushed in around her. As it swallowed her, she could hear the guardian’s last words to her.  
  
TRAVEL SWIFTLY, MOTHER CONFESSOR, AND MAY THE CREATOR GUIDE YOUR WAY.  
  
Then Kahlan was falling again.   
  
***  
  
Belle surfaced to consciousness slowly, as if she was swimming through murky water, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Her head ached, blunt pain radiating across her skull. She could tell she was half-reclined and felt what she thought were cushions underneath her. Groggily she opened her eyes, which seemed to be slow to focus.  
  
“It’s good to see you are finally awake.”  
  
The strange voice pierced her mind, and her memories flooded back in a rush. Her eyes flew open and she tried to jump up, but a restraining hand on her shoulder and the sudden splitting sensation in her head forced her back. She hissed from the pain.  
  
“Please relax. My men were a bit rough with you. I’ve had your wounds cleaned, but without the aid of my magic there’s little I can do for your head. It will pass, but you should take it slow.”  
  
Belle finally focused on the speaker, who was leaning over her. He was a middle-aged man with jet black hair that was graying at the temples. His face was clean shaven, his features average and nondescript. His expression would have seemed almost kindly had it not been for the two yellow eyes that bored into her own. Belle suppressed a shudder as she felt the scrutiny of their unnatural gaze.  
  
“Who – who are you?” asked Belled shakily.  
  
“My name is Prentax Vendat Othero, Wizard of the First Order.” The wizard bowed to her with an exaggerated flourish. Belle’s mind churned. She knew he was lying – there was only one wizard of the First Order alive, and he was most assuredly no longer in Aydindril. Questioning the truth of her captor’s words, however, seemed to be an unwise course of action. She was guarded with her response.  
  
“What do you want with me?”  
  
Prentax chuckled, but his strange eyes had returned to hers, giving her the impression of a cat eyeing a particularly interesting mouse. “I wish to extend a proposition.”  
  
Belle eased herself up slowly, careful not to jar her head. She had no intention of having this man hover over her for a moment longer than necessary.  
  
“You seem to have me at a distinct disadvantage, wizard. A proposition implies the ability to refuse, yet I am your prisoner. It seems you could do as you please, so what do you need from me?”  
  
“Oh, Belle, prisoner is such a harsh word. I would rather you were my guest. I believe we have much to offer one another.” The wizard said in a mildly patronizing tone, as if he were mollifying a child.  
  
 _The man is clearly mad_ , decided Belle. He’d burned down half of Aydindril, killed most of the Home Guard, driven out the Mother Confessor, and had his thugs forcibly subdue her, yet here he was talking to her as if they were discussing simple business arrangements. She considered her options. She was ungifted and his magic was useless on her, but he clearly knew that and had undoubtedly taken precautions. She could outright refuse to consider his proposal, but almost certainly she would end up dead, or at the very least rotting in a dungeon somewhere. Perhaps, though, if she played along, she could learn more about him, who he was, what his plans were. Maybe she could even escape, given the right opportunity.  
  
“Again I ask, what is it you want of me?” she replied, hoping her tone sounded smug and self-confident. As long as the wizard pretended she had a say in what happened next, she would take advantage of the fantasy.  
  
Prentax retreated from her side. Belle’s couch faced a solid maple desk, upon which lay neat stacks of parchments, several quills, and an ornate, silver ink well. The wizard took his place in the chair behind the desk, its wood matching that of the desk, its seat and back lined with blue cushions. Similarly colored blue tapestries, the silver insignia of Aydindril stitched into the cloth, hung from the walls on either side of a large window, through which the low light of sunset burned. Though Belle had never been in this part of the palace, she knew she must be in the private offices of the Mother Confessor. The sight of Prentax in the Mother Confessor’s chair galled Belle, but she kept her expression neutral. The wizard smiled at her blandly.  
  
“You have particular…instruments…that I wish to obtain. As you have witnessed for yourself, I have certain ambitions for the future of the Midlands. And for D’Hara, if truth be told. Your inventions would help insure that my position remains uncontested.”  
  
“And I suppose your men attacking me not once, but twice, was all part of that insurance?” Belle could not hide the resentment that crept into her voice. It was well enough – even a business partner would not take kindly to being ambushed.  
  
“A simple misunderstanding, I promise you. My men lack the finer skills of negotiation. It was a mistake to send them in my place. I do hope you’ll forgive that error. I simply wanted to make sure that others did not acquire your skills before I did. Unfortunately, I see the Mother Confessor has taken advantage of your talents.” He placed two of Belle’s prototypes on the desk, along with her canister of powder and several projectiles. Clearly he or his men had searched Cara’s war room as well.  
  
“The Mother Confessor confiscated my equipment and kept me from leaving Aydindril. She forbade me from working on my inventions. She was a fool,” Belle sneered.  
  
Belle gambled on her place within the palace being unknown to Prentax. She hoped if she acted as the aggrieved victim of the Mother Confessor’s political machinations it might sway the wizard’s opinion of her. And it was true she had not been allowed to leave Aydindril. Hopefully he did not know that it was her fealty to the Mother Confessor that kept her content with the arrangement.  
  
The gamble seemed to pay off as Prentax cocked his head, looking at her with mild surprise.  
  
“Then it would be of no interest to you that we have captured the Mother Confessor’s Mord’Sith.”  
  
“Don’t you mean the Mother Confessor’s whore?” Belle spat, trying to hide her shock behind a mask of disdain. She inwardly winced at her own vitriolic words. Her stomach twisted in knots of anxiety. Cara was alive, but for how long?  
  
“Then you have no love for Kahlan Amnell or her Mord’Sith?” The expression of surprise grew on the wizard’s face, his eyebrows rising. Clearly he had not expected her reaction. At least her ploy seemed to be working.  
  
“Oh, the Mother Confessor is kind enough on first blush, but a gilded cage is still a cage. And she has a blind spot for her pet’s activities. That snake would have been after me with her agiels once we were out of the Mother Confessor’s sight had their magic not been useless on me. As it was, she was enthusiastic in her attentions when she could get away with it.” Belle’s mind raced, trying to weave her fiction without faltering. She was not used to having to think on her feet like this. Her palms were sweating as profusely as they had been in battle.  
  
“I see,” replied Prentax. “So the Mord’Sith is not as repentant as Kahlan Amnell has claimed?”  
  
“Hardly,” snorted the blacksmith.  
  
Prentax folded his hands before him and seemed to be considering his next words. Belle suddenly began to doubt whether he believed her pretense. Her heart jumped and thudded.  
  
The wizard spoke after a tense moment. “Tell me, Belle, if you have no allegiance to Aydindril, why did my men find you outside the Wizard’s Keep?”  
  
“If the city you were in were being attacked by dragons, where would you go?” She answered his question with one of her own, hoping it would suffice. “I couldn’t see that staying in the palace was the wisest course of action, so I escaped in the confusion. The Wizard’s Keep seemed like the safest place at the time. Unfortunately for me, it was locked when I got there.”  
  
Belle held her breath and sent a silent prayer to the Creator that Prentax would not know of her fighting side by side with Cara; that he had not learned of her meeting with the Mother Confessor. If any of his men had seen her, one report was all it would take to shred her fabric of lies. However, the wizard gave a slight nod as if her answer made sense. Belle let herself exhale.  
  
“You keep saying you need my inventions, but you already have them for yourself. What more can I do for you?” pressed Belle.  
  
Prentax snorted and waved a hand over her prototypes. “These playthings? I need real weapons, weapons that would leave me unchallenged once I have conquered the Midlands and D’Hara. I may have taken Aydindril today, but there will be many who are still loyal to the Mother Confessor and the Lady Rahl. My magic is very strong, but I’ve always found it prudent to be…persuasive…on all fronts. You can help me achieve that. I need your expertise to produce these weapons.”  
  
“And what do I get in return?” asked Belle. She started to understand why he was so adamant about gaining her assistance. Without magic to spell the secret of the powder out of her, all he had was two metal tubes and a few useless balls. Apparently he had decided that making a deal was quicker than torturing the information out of her. No doubt once he had the formula she would find herself on the wrong end of a headsman’s axe, but for now he needed her. Belle only hoped she could keep it that way long enough for the Mother Confessor to return.  
  
“Rest assured, you will find loyalty to me will be rewarded accordingly,” answered Prentax vaguely.  
  
“That’s well enough, but after our rude introduction I would like a little more than faith and platitudes to go on. I have conditions.”  
  
“Such as?” Prentax’s eyes narrowed and his lips were pinched together in a tight line. Suddenly he seemed much less accommodating. Belle swallowed but plunged forward.  
  
“I will make you your weapons. I can deliver fifty barrels of the powder and ten weapons four times this size in two weeks.” She paused, pointing at the prototypes. “But in return I want the best quarters in the palace, except for your own, of course. I want free access to the palace grounds and a servant of my choosing assigned to me to act as an assistant and, er, take care of my needs as they arise.”  
  
The wizard considered her with those eerie, unreadable eyes, but his smile returned. “I think we can take care of your quarters and your…assistant. As for your access to the palace, you will retain an escort – for your own safety, of course. If you deliver what you have promised, I will consider granting you more liberties in the future.”  
  
“I have one more condition.”  
  
“And that would be?”  
  
“The Mord’Sith. I want to see her. I owe her some friendly words after her warm welcome to me.”  
Prentax laughed.   
  
***  
  
Cara tried to focus on the blacksmith’s words as the guard hit her again, snapping her head back. Pain was nothing new to her, and she let it wash through her and away. Kahlan was free. That was all that mattered. These men could do anything they wanted to her and she would not break, because the only thing she cared about was beyond their reach. She grunted as the next fist hit her in the gut, but she could not help the mirthless smile that crept over her lips. Such an amateur – he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t reaching her. She let her thoughts drift to the events earlier in the day.  
  
The skirmish in the main hall had gone poorly. Cara and the Home Guard soldier had been prepared for the three men that had come at them from across the hall, and for a moment they had the upper hand against their attackers. However, a second squadron of invaders had flooded in from the central courtyard. She and the soldier had defended themselves fiercely, but in the end the sheer numbers of their opponents overwhelmed them. Why they had left her alive was a mystery. As they had trussed her up like livestock she had imagined that Kahlan would be furious with her for not keeping her word – almost as irate as she was with herself for being captured. The men had dragged her down to the dungeons and chained her hands behind her back, their rough treatment reopening the wound in her shoulder. For the most part they had left her alone with her thoughts. Occasionally, someone had checked on her, only to leave before she could speak.   
  
Cara had remained standing for hours. The chains anchoring her to the wall were too short to allow her to sit, and if she stepped too far from the wall the shackles around her wrists dug into her. Her eyes had roamed the cell, looking for anything that she could use as a tool, but she was not surprised when she found nothing. It was she, after all, who had ordered a complete cleaning and renovation of the palace dungeon when she had taken on her new role as commander of the Home Guard. Though the dungeon was rarely used, Cara had wanted to make sure that its security would hold when it was needed. She almost regretted being so thorough.  
  
Then Belle had come with a yellow-eyed man she had called Prentax, who carried with him the air of a wizard. The blacksmith had changed. She had cursed Cara from outside the bars, calling her names and hurling insults. Cara had heard all the jabs before, and much worse, but it was disconcerting to hear that kind of venom spewing from Belle. It had seemed appallingly incongruous with the blacksmith Cara had thought she’d known. Yet Cara had met the loathing as she always had – with contempt of her own. Mord’Sith were used to being hated and feared. Cara and Belle had traded vicious words. The Mord’Sith was furious – how had she and Kahlan not seen Belle for the traitor she was? The coward had slinked over to a new master as soon as the tables had turned. She had raged at the blacksmith, straining against the chains, heedless of the pain in her wrists and arms.  
  
“Let me in there,” Belle had finally snapped.  
  
Prentax had demurred. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  
  
“What is she going to do? She’s chained to a wall,” said Belle haughtily. “Let me in.”  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Belle had been let into the cell by one of Prentax’s guards. She had approached Cara with an unreadable look in her eyes. Without a word, she had back-handed Cara, and the Mord’Sith tasted the coppery flavor of her own blood on her lips. Without warning Belle had pounced on Cara, one of her burly hands wrapped around Cara’s throat. The blacksmith had squeezed Cara’s wounded shoulder with the other, gouging at the puncture with a thick thumb. Cara had winced, though she did not cry out. Belle’s lips were curled into a cruel snarl, her face inches from Cara’s. But it was Belle’s words that had shocked Cara.  
  
In a voice so low it was barely a whisper, the blacksmith had said, “The Mother Confessor escaped. Stay strong. She will return for you.”  
  
Before Cara could register her surprise, Belle had leaned back and spat in her face. The blacksmith had let one look of apology slide across her face and then her expression hardened again. She crushed Cara’s wounded shoulder in her grip and Cara had to grit her teeth against the pain as she involuntarily tried to twist away.  
  
“Enough!” Prentax had commanded. “I need her alive and in one piece. You’ve had enough fun for now.”  
  
With that Belle and the wizard had left without another word. Cara’s shoulder had throbbed from Belle’s assault, but it didn’t matter. Kahlan was alive and she was safe. Cara held onto the blacksmith’s revelation. And who could have predicted that jovial, innocent Belle would turn out to be such a supreme actor? The ache in Cara’s shoulder suggested perhaps the blacksmith was a little too good. Yet, with Belle on the outside, Cara might even have a chance to escape before Kahlan could put herself in danger attempting a rescue - which the Mother Confessor was no doubt foolishly contemplating right now.  
  
“What in the Keeper’s name do you think you’re smiling at?” growled the guard. His words brought Cara’s attention back to the present. He had finally realized that Cara was paying his work little mind. Her gaze was fixed on a point in space somewhere beyond his shoulder. “I’ll teach you to pay attention.”  
  
Lazily she turned her eyes to him, regarding him coldly as if he were an annoying insect that was distracting her. “What makes you think that a boy like you could teach a Mord’Sith anything about pain? One candlemark with you in these chains instead of me and you would be begging me to kill you.”  
  
The guard’s eyes bulged with anger, the purple veins in his neck standing out against the red flush of his neck. He advanced on her. “You filthy whore. I’m going to make you hurt in ways you’ve never hurt before.”  
  
“I doubt that,” mocked Cara. The guard raised a fist.  
  
“That won’t be necessary,” said a voice from outside the cell door. Prentax had returned.  
  
The guard looked stunned.  
  
“Didn’t I tell her she was to be left untouched?” asked the wizard in a cold voice as he entered the cell.  
  
The guard dropped to one knee, his head bowed. He face had gone from red to pale white. “Yes, my Lord. Forgive me. She bit me when I came to give her some water.”  
  
Cara smirked.  
  
“And a mere scratch can make you disobey my orders?” said Prentax, his tone icy. The guard balked, but the wizard waved him off impatiently. “I’ll forget this infraction, but do not fail me again. Now, go get a healer. I want her shoulder tended to before it rots.”  
  
“Yes, my Lord!” shouted the guard as he jumped to his feet. He scurried from the cell like a dog with his tail between his legs.  
  
Prentax approached Cara slowly, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he studied her. Cara met his stare with a defiant gaze.  
  
Finally he said, “So proud, you Mord’Sith. But you always need a master to serve, don’t you, or else what is your purpose? I think you’ll do well under my command.”  
  
“I serve no one but the Lady Rahl,” stated Cara bluntly.  
  
“The Lady Rahl is weak. She does not have the steel to rule D’Hara.”  
  
“You would not say such a thing if you knew Kahlan Amnell. And she holds the blood bond. You do not. D’Hara will not follow you.”  
  
Prentax gave Cara a condescending smile. “For the moment, that is true. But soon I will have her loyalty – and her power. As I will have yours.”  
  
“You will never break me – or her,” responded Cara confidently as she leaned forward in her chains, her voice low and steady. She let the cold fury rise in her again, as she smiled back at him. “And one day soon, I’m going to watch you die.”  
  
“What wonderful blood-lust!” exclaimed the wizard, clapping his hands together like a child receiving a favorite toy. “So dark and delicious.”  
  
In the wizard’s hand hung a glittering gold necklace, with a pendant of blue stone. Cara eyed it suspiciously. Prentax followed her gaze. “I’ve brought you a gift. With this I have no need to break anyone. Try not to struggle. It will only make the process harder.”  
  
“It will take more than your magic and a shiny bauble to command me, wizard!” Cara snarled, but the sight of the stone sent a shiver of doubt running through her. With her hands bound, she could do nothing to repel his magic. She knew this must be one of the Stones of Surrender that Zedd had talked about, but at the time he had little to share about what the stones actually did. He had still been researching them when Aydindril had been attacked. Defenseless against the unknown, Cara’s fury swelled in her chest.   
  
As Prentax approached her, the stone began to glow an eerie blue. She tried to lash out with a kick, but with a swift command from the wizard’s lips she was held frozen in a wizard’s web. Conscious, yet unable to move, Cara watched in helpless frustration as Prentax placed the golden chain around her neck.  
  
The world began to sway and blur, and Cara felt her body rocking, as if she were on a ship tossed about by the sea. Blue light expanded and clouded her vision. It became very hard to think as the sound of buzzing filled her head. She put every ounce of effort into concentrating on a picture of Kahlan in her mind. Kahlan atop a horse, the bright, late summer sun making her white dress glow. There was a shy smile on her lips and her blue eyes glittered as she looked at Cara. It was the day Kahlan had first admitted her feelings for Cara while taking one of their rides through the countryside surrounding Aydindril. Cara had been astounded at the time. Now, Cara clung to the image with all her might.  
  
 _Stay strong. She will return for you.  
_  
The blacksmith’s words echoed in Cara’s head, while blue light eclipsed everything else.


	6. Enemies and Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tries to piece together a plan, Kahlan and Zedd are back in the Midlands, and Cara faces a heart-wrenching choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy on Belle. I hope nobody minds too much. Don’t worry, I have not forgotten who our main ladies are, and I will definitely refocus on them in the following chapters. I just need Belle to do a few things first…

Pacing the length and breadth of her richly appointed chambers, Belle contemplated her next move. She ran thick fingers through her short hair, worrying the strands until they stuck out in every direction, and then smoothing them back down, only to do it again. True to his word, Prentax had given her chambers better than she had ever dreamed of, with a large, goose-down bed, a roaring fireplace, and sumptuous carpets covering the floor. Belle hardly noticed, her attention drawn inward by her thoughts. She was relieved that Prentax wanted Cara alive, but the blacksmith fretted about the Mord’Sith’s fate. Belle brooded over her own uncertain future as well. Today she would pick her assistant and then she must start work on her end of the bargain with Prentax. How would she keep the conniving wizard happy without giving him the secrets of her powder?  
  
Her strides and her thoughts were interrupted by a thumping on her door. The door swung open as one of Prentax’s soldiers stuck his head in.  
  
“It’s time. They’ve assembled,” he said gruffly. He was one of the men who’d been on the hill of the Wizard’s Keep and he was clearly still annoyed at being assigned to watch over her.  
  
“I’ll be right out,” replied Belle tersely. The guard closed the door without a reply, shutting it a bit more loudly than necessary. Her insides squirmed, but she forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. Then she flung open the door and followed the soldier.  
  
They arrived in a small meeting room several floors down from her quarters. Ten men and women lined one side of the room. Several of them looked terrified to be there, others cast her sullen looks. A few stared blankly ahead of them, refusing to acknowledge Belle’s presence. Each one wore the garb of Midlanders, and most looked as if they were used to the high society of Aydindril. At first Belle was puzzled by this, assuming that Prentax would give her only candidates from his own men. What better way to scrutinize her actions and gain her knowledge? But the guard’s next, off-handed remark served to dispel the mystery.  
  
“See anything you like, blacksmith?” he scoffed. “Prentax made sure that only the better looking ones were sent up to keep you satisfied.”  
  
Now that Belle regarded the group a second time, she did notice that each was handsome or pretty in one way or another. She grimaced. Prentax had apparently taken her comment about her _needs_ seriously. Her stomach flip-flopped again. At least he had the sense to see she would not care for any of his own men, given how her previous encounters with them had gone.  
  
Hiding her nerves behind a dispassionate mask, the blacksmith walked up and down the line examining each of the potential choices as if assessing a piece of merchandise.  
  
“They all know how to read and write?” she asked coolly, stalling for time. She had no idea how to select an assistant, especially when her whole focus was on _not_ doing the task that faced her.  
  
“All of them are clerks from either the palace or the estates of the councilors,” replied the soldier.  
  
“Hmm...”  
  
Belle was nearing the end of the line, when a tiny woman, a head shorter than her, flung herself forward at the blacksmith. Surprised, Belle took half a step back. Intense green eyes burned with fury under orange eyebrows and a halo of curly red-orange wisps that had escaped the bun which held back the rest of the woman’s hair.  
  
“You miserable traitor! The Mother Confessor took you in and gave you a home and this is how you repay her kindness?! I hope you rot in the Underworld!”  
  
“Get back in line!” shouted the guard, roughly shoving the woman back. The diminutive woman struggled futilely against the soldier’s superior bulk, still shooting daggers at Belle with her eyes. An idea started forming in the blacksmith’s brain.  
  
“Wait.” Belle placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder. Ignoring his grunt of displeasure, she fixed her eyes on the redhead. “Let me see her.”  
  
Grumbling, the soldier backed away. Belle took a step forward and grabbed the smaller woman’s chin roughly in her hand. Belle could now see that the clerk’s eyes were in fact hazel, instead of green - hazel eyes that seemed to darken even further with rage as they met her own.  
  
“What’s your name?” Belle demanded.  
  
“What’s it to you?” fumed the redhead.  
  
“I’ll have your name one way or the other,” taunted the blacksmith.  
  
“Then I see no need to be the one to share it,” the woman spat back.  
  
Belle resisted the urge to laugh. She liked the woman’s fiery retorts, but it would do her pretense no good to be seen as soft in the face of such defiance. Instead, she twisted the woman’s face away from her as she turned to the soldier.  
  
“Have her sent to my chambers in two candlemarks. I’ll see if I can’t make her more pliable,” the blacksmith said. A lascivious smile broke through the guard’s surly mien, and Belle resisted the urge to smash his face with one of her fists.  
  
***  
  
Spitting grit from her mouth, Kahlan pushed herself up off the patch of bare ground where she’d awoken, face down in the dirt. Her body felt as if she had been tenderized by some invisible butcher. Her head felt as if it was filled with cotton and her stomach lurched as if she’d eaten rotten fish. Through her disorientation she tried to grasp onto the things that the guardian had told her, but parts of the conversation were shrouded in fog. The whole experience had been so surreal that she began to wonder if it was a figment of her imagination. A glance at her wrist assured her it was not – the silver badger remained, radiating soothing warmth.   
  
The angle of the shafts of sun penetrating the trees told her it was mid-morning, but she hadn’t the faintest idea where. She rose to her knees. Zedd gave a tremendous cough and a piteous moan beside her. She quickly scanned around, checking for signs of immediate danger. They were on a narrow road, more of a wagon track than anything, with two ruts worn deep by long use. The forest was open, the canopy overhead parting here and there to reveal patches of blue sky. The sunlight that filtered through the leaves to the forest floor nursed grasses, wildflowers and small shrubs. The amazinths, blue stars, and tiny pink narcissus let her know that they were not only in the Midlands but somewhere in the northern provinces. She only prayed that they were on the right side of the Rang’Shada Mountains. Satisfied that there was no imminent trouble, Kahlan shifted to face the wizard.  
  
Zedd lay on his back, his arms thrown over his face, the baggy sleeves of his robe concealing his head save for the long locks of gray that stuck out. He groaned again. Kahlan grabbed his top arm and gently peeled it away from his face. He winced and refused to open his eyes.  
  
“Zedd, are you alright?” she asked softly.  
  
“No, I most certainly am not,” he spoke carefully but quietly, enunciating every word gingerly. He pulled his arm away from her hand and placed it back over his face. “I have a headache like I’ve just spent the last three days consuming ale at Ambrosio’s Tavern and my body feels as if I’ve been pounded, stuffed and roasted. Now I know how those ducks I’ve been feasting on must feel, but at least they’re dead when it happens to them! I had no idea using the amulet would be so painful.”  
  
“I’m not sure that it was the amulet, Zedd,” replied Kahlan.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Kahlan launched into the tale of the enchanted half-world, of the guardian and her gifts. Half way through her story, Zedd had roused himself to a sitting position, his pale blue eyes wide with astonishment. By the end of her tale, he was on his feet, the aches in his head and body long forgotten.  
  
“By the Spirits! I end up in Caelencia and all I do is sleep right through it! The Keeper take it!” He was gesticulating dramatically, his frustration palpable.  
  
“Caelencia?” Kahlan was puzzled.  
  
“It is a magical realm, spoken of in some of the ancient texts. To be surrounded by pure magic is said to be ecstasy for the wizard lucky enough to find it. Many wizards presumed it was a mere fantasy. Yet, the world you described could be no other, and here I am with nary a recollection and a bad hangover!”  
  
Kahlan let Zedd fume silently for a few moments, his shaggy eyebrows knitted together in disappointment. Eventually the wizard gave a resigned huff.  
  
“Well, I suppose there is nothing for it now,” he grumbled. He looked about them. “Where are we? And where are the Night Wisps? You said that they were to be our guides.”  
  
“I don’t know,” answered Kahlan as she began to search around them as well. In her confusion, she had momentarily forgotten that the little creatures should have been close. The Confessor began to sing, a melodic, wordless tune that she had used to call the Night Wisps to her before. Soon she heard the answering tune whistled to her from the bushes by the side of the road and silver-blue balls of light floated up from the vegetation. Kahlan counted them. There were eleven in all.  
  
“There you are,” she said, smiling. The wisps surrounded her. She held out a hand and one of the wisps landed lightly in her palm. “And what is your name?”  
  
The wisp chirped and hummed.  
  
“It’s good to meet you, Stella. Well, Stella, I don’t suppose you know where we are? Or even what day it is?” Kahlan had no notion of how much time had passed in Caelencia, or if time even worked the same way in that world as it did in this one.  
  
Again the wisp chirruped and whistled. Kahlan turned to Zedd, who was also listening intently to Stella.

“North of Kelton, hmm?” murmured Zedd, a hand to his chin in a thought. “If we can find some horses, we could make it to Aydindril in a few days’ ride. It’s been only a day since the invasion. We may have time to reach Aydindril before Prentax has taken full control.”  
  
Kahlan’s heart leapt at the idea of being back in her city so soon, even if she didn’t know what she would find when she got there. Uncertainty mixed with hope as she thought of Cara. The Mord’Sith could be anywhere by now, but Kahlan knew that if Cara was alive, the Mord’Sith would be searching for Kahlan. Kahlan would not believe that Cara was anything but alive. The Confessor asked, “Stella, how far is the nearest town?”   
  
The little wisp hummed a brief answer.  
  
“Four leagues, that’s only half a day’s walk if we keep a good pace,” said Kahlan excitedly. She allowed her mind to drift to an image of her lover, picturing Cara’s jade eyes, full lips and golden hair. Then a thought occurred to Kahlan. She spoke to the Night Wisp again.  
  
“Do you know of Cara Mason?” she asked.  
  
The tiny wisp began bouncing up and down in her hand, whistling loudly. The other wisps also hummed and circled frantically.  
  
“She was there when you were born? Then your mother was the last Night Wisp left alive by Darken Rahl.” Kahlan was awed by the reverence in the creature’s voice as it spoke of Cara. When the Mother Confessor had been injured while trying to safely deliver the last remaining wisp to the birthing grounds, it had fallen to the Mord’Sith to get the pregnant creature there. Cara had returned to Kahlan, transformed by the wonder of what she had witnessed, and Kahlan had wished fervently that she had been there to share the experience with Cara.  
  
The bouncing ball of light chirped some more. Kahlan smiled.  
  
“Well, I’m glad to hear that you would do anything for the ‘Hero of the Night Wisps’, because I have a very important task for you. I want you to send three of your strongest fliers to find Cara. Unless we are able to get horses, you will reach Aydindril before us. I need you to tell her where we are and where we’ll be going. I need to know she is alive. Can you do that for me?”  
  
Stella warbled her assent. Kahlan knew that the Night Wisps, though fragile, were strong-willed and loyal creatures. They had befriended her, aided her, and even died for her. She knew they would not fail.

“Thank you,” Kahlan replied solemnly, “all of you.”  
  
Three of the wisps broke apart from the others and zipped due north, their whistled calls trailing in their wake. Kahlan watched them until they disappeared, sending part of her heart with them. Zedd’s hand on her shoulder reminded her of the task in front of her.  
  
“Horses, right,” she muttered. “Lead the way, Stella.”  
  
Kahlan and Zedd set out, following the Night Wisps that danced and bobbed in front of them. The day was warm and pleasant, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves all around them. Kahlan could almost believe that she and the wizard were just out for a walk as old friends, but Cara’s unknown fate and what she herself must do when she reached Aydindril overshadowed any enjoyment she might have derived from the bucolic setting. She knew she needed to destroy the Heart Stone, but how? How were she and Zedd supposed to sneak past six dragons, a small army, and Prentax’s magic in order to find the blasted thing? She and the wizard had faced steep odds before, but usually they had a shred of a plan to begin with – even if said plan usually fell apart within the first five minutes of being implemented. Only the fact that she knew Aydindril better than anyone in the Midlands gave her some hope.  
  
Her thoughts were dark enough that Kahlan was almost thankful for the distraction of four heavily armed men riding down on them. The Night Wisps whistled a loud warning and then disappeared into the forest. They were peaceful creatures and would be vulnerable in combat, not to mention near useless. Kahlan drew her daggers and Zedd began muttering beside her, calling up his magic. The riders drew up a few paces from the pair. They wore the armor and insignia of the Dragon Corps. Kahlan lowered her daggers a fraction of an inch, waiting to see if they were still loyal to her. When the lead rider drew his sword, she had her answer.  
  
“Mother Confessor, you’re going to have to come with us,” he commanded gruffly. “Our Lord Prentax wishes you delivered to him.”  
  
“It’s Lady Rahl to you, traitor,” she answered coldly. “As the ruler of D’Hara I order you, surrender now, and I will spare you your lives.”  
  
The soldier grinned wolfishly, leaning forward in his saddle as he surveyed Kahlan and Zedd. His men sniggered. “Four against two. I like my odds.”  
  
“Don’t be a fool, man!” exclaimed Zedd. Kahlan knew that either she or Zedd alone could likely have defeated the quad facing them now. Against both of them together, these men had no chance.  
  
“Take them!” shouted the leader, urging his horse forward. _So fools it is._ Kahlan loosed a dagger, striking not the lead rider but the man to his right, the one with the crossbow. A blast of wizard’s fire knocked the leader from his horse. He was dead before he hit the ground. The remaining pair of soldiers charged them. Kahlan dragged one of them from his horse, plunging her second dagger into his belly. He sputtered and spit up blood. Zedd used his magic to fling the last soldier into a tree thirty paces away.  
  
“Zedd, the horses!” she cried, but it was too late. The frightened animals reared and fled before either of them could grab their reins.  
  
Kahlan jerked up the head of the soldier she had just stabbed, grasping him by the throat and unleashing her fury into him. At least she could question him before he died. When the black receded from his eyes, replaced by the glazed look of untarnished adulation, she spoke.  
  
“How many patrols are there?” she asked quickly.  
  
“Dozens, Confessor. Lord Prentax knew you would return, so he sent scouts in every direction from Aydindril. They’re covering every major road between here and the city, and most of the minor roads as well, while quads scour the back roads for signs of you.”  
  
Kahlan frowned at this bit of news. Prentax was apparently more organized than Zedd and she had first believed. With patrols on the roads, it would force them into the forest, adding days, if not weeks to their journey.  
  
“How many are loyal to Lord Prentax? How big is his army?” she questioned the man. He gurgled, more blood dripping from his lips, but he forced out an answer.  
  
“I don’t know for sure, but I would guess several thousand. Mostly D’Harans, but a few Midlanders too, from some of the provinces that benefited under Darken Rahl.”  
  
Kahlan opened her mouth to ask about Prentax’s plans, but the soldier’s head lolled back onto the ground, his pupils fixed and dilated. He would be answering no more of her questions. She retrieved her dagger and stood. Zedd had followed the exchange, his arms crossed. His face was grim. Behind him the Night Wisps slowly emerged from the woods, their chirps more subdued than before. She fetched her other dagger.  
  
“It looks like we’ll be sticking to the forest paths, Zedd. Otherwise we won’t make it anywhere near Aydindril before Prentax knows we’re coming. Can you make these bodies disappear? I don’t want their discovery to alert the other quads before we can put some distance between them and us.”  
  
“I’ll do what I can,” Zedd replied, his gravelly voice serious.  
  
They both knew that they had a long way to go.  
  
***  
  
Belle was back to pacing in her chambers. A sharp rap preceded the entrance of the petite redhead, who was shoved inside by one of Prentax’s men. As the door slammed behind her, the clerk glared at Belle, who in turn stared nervously back at her.  
  
“Please, sit down,” Belle finally managed, motioning towards a table set with food and wine. Now that she was alone with the woman, her plan seemed like a flimsy one. The clerk was nearly breathing fire and the blacksmith wasn’t at all sure that she would be able to convince the redhead to help her.  
  
“I’ll stand,” answered the clerk curtly.  
  
“Please. I need to talk to you.”  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence, as Belle waited for a response, but the clerk said nothing, her lips pinched together in a sharp, disapproving line. Things were obviously getting off to a great start. Belle turned away for a moment, staring at the fire, searching for the right words. She rubbed a hand on the back of her neck.  
  
The redhead moved so swiftly that Belle barely had time to react. The clerk snatched a knife from the food table and lunged at Belle, bringing the blade down toward Belle’s heart. The blacksmith yelped, stumbling backward and grabbing the wrist that held the knife. She was much stronger and bigger than the clerk, but the smaller woman thrashed wildly and Belle nearly lost her grip. The clerk cursed her viciously. Belle was finally able to pry the knife from her hand. It clattered to the floor as the pair continued to struggle, their momentum carrying them halfway across the room. The clerk pummeled Belle with furious fists.  
  
“Stop!” roared Belle. She was trying desperately not to injure the petite woman, but her own anger was rising at the clerk’s attack. “I’m not going to hurt you.”  
  
“Well, that makes one of us,” yelled the clerk as she hurled her full body weight at the blacksmith. “I’ll kill you before I let you use me like a common whore!”   
  
“I’m not-“ began Belle, but it was no use. They tumbled to the ground in a tangled, grunting mess. They rolled about, toppling furniture, while each tried to gain the upper hand. Finally Belle wrapped the redhead in a tight bear hug, pinning the woman’s arms to her sides. The blacksmith twined her legs around the clerk’s to keep her from kicking. They both breathed hard, chests heaving from the exertion.  
  
“Now, will you please stop?” Belle asked in breathless consternation. “I need you to listen to me. I need your help…and will you stop biting me! That hurts!”  
  
The redhead had sunk her teeth into the back of Belle’s hand, drawing blood. The clerk pulled back and spat blood onto the floor.  
  
“Why should I do anything you say, traitor?” she snarled.  
  
“Because I’m on your side, believe it or not,” answered the blacksmith impatiently. “And if I wanted to hurt you or…or do other things to you…don’t you think I could’ve by now?”  
  
Belle gave the clerk a bone-crushing squeeze, just hard enough to emphasize her point without doing permanent damage. As if conceding the argument, the woman finally stopped straining against Belle and lay still, though her body was still rigid with anger. With the brief interlude of peace, the blacksmith was suddenly aware of the well-defined, voluptuous curves of the small body in her arms and it made her blush in embarrassment. She had never handled anyone quite so roughly and intimately as she had the clerk, and the press of the redhead’s form against her own was eliciting strange sensations she didn’t want to think about. _Get a hold of yourself, woman_ , thought Belle.  
  
Clearing her throat uncomfortably, she said, “I’m going to let go of you now, if you promise to listen.”

  
The clerk grunted, a sound that Belle took for agreement. The blacksmith dumped the woman unceremoniously out of her arms, wanting to break contact as soon as possible. Belle heaved herself up off the floor. She almost offered a hand of assistance to the clerk, but decided against it – the woman had tried to stab her, after all. Instead she sat down at the table laden with food, which had somehow stayed standing despite the fracas, and poured herself a glass of wine. After a moment, the clerk lowered herself into the seat across from Belle, her lips thin and her back held stiff and straight as an arrow.  
  
“What’s your name?” asked Belle, trying to sound calm.  
  
“Merrilyn,” replied the woman tersely.  
  
“Well, Merrilyn, I need your help.”  
  
Belle outlined all that had transpired since she’d arrived in Aydindril. She explained how she’d come to make a deal with Prentax, and how she had no intention of fulfilling her end of their bargain. How her only intent was to keep herself and Cara alive long enough to escape, or barring that, for the Mother Confessor to return. The harsh lines of the clerk’s face softened slightly as she listened, but her expression was one of incredulity.  
  
“So let me see if I understand. You want my help to create these weapons for Prentax, only you want to make sure they don’t work?” Her voice sounded dubious. “How in Creation do you think you’re going to get away with it?”  
  
“I’ve given us two weeks. Hopefully the Mother Confessor will be back by then. In the meantime, I’ll be creating faulty weapons. It’s easy enough. What I need is someone who can help me organize the supplies, order the powder’s ingredients without revealing what they are to anyone. You seemed so loyal to the Mother Confessor, I thought I could trust you.”  
  
Merrilyn seemed to take the compliment well, but she shook her head a little. “It still seems like a crazy idea to me. What if Prentax wants to test the weapons? Or what if he decides to torture or magic the secret of the powder out of me?”  
  
Belle gave this some thought. “I can make one functional prototype. Perhaps I’ll even suggest testing it myself, so he sees that I’m making progress. As for the powder…”  
  
Belle’s voice trailed off. Her brilliant plan seemed to be a bit less shiny now. She had forgotten that others, even those as loyal to the Mother Confessor as Merrilyn seemed to be, could be enchanted by Prentax. She could trust no one with the powder’s formula. Her brow furrowed as she tried to think her way out of the problem. The seconds ticked by as her mind went around in circles. Finally, it was the clerk that proposed a solution.  
  
“Look, I don’t need to know what goes into the powder. I can requisition the metal and ingredients you need, but if you have me order false ingredients along with the real ones, no one, including myself will be the wiser.”   
  
“Perfect!” Belle grinned in relief. Merrilyn looked as if she was trying to hide a pleased smile behind a stern look.  
  
“I still think you’re going to get us both killed,” the clerk chided.  
  
“Us? Then you’ll help me?” asked Belle excitedly.  
  
“What choice do I have? You picked me to be your assistant, remember? And as hare-brained as this scheme is, it’s better than sitting on my hands while this Prentax destroys my home. I know what it was like under Darken Rahl and I have no taste for living under yet another tyrant.”  
  
“Then it’s settled.” Belle thumped the table happily, nearly spilling her wine. She blushed at her own clumsiness. She felt like such an oaf next to this petite, serious woman. “Please eat something. I’m going to get a list of materials ready for you. No doubt Prentax will want to see us get to work sooner than later.”  
  
The blacksmith rose quickly and grabbed parchment and quill. She sat at a small desk in the corner and began scribbling notes for Merrilyn. She stole surreptitious glances at the clerk as the woman prepared herself a small plate of food, nibbling tentatively at a bit of cheese.  
  
“Take as much as you’d like,” said Belle, noticing the clerk’s reluctance.  
  
“It doesn’t feel right taking food from Prentax,” answered Merrilyn.  
  
“It’s the Mother Confessor’s food and I doubt she would want those loyal to her to waste away from pride. She’d probably rather that you keep up your strength, so you can fight if it comes to that.”  
  
“If today’s any indication, I don’t think I’d be very good at fighting.” Merrilyn finally allowed herself self-deprecating smile. Belle noticed that even this small bit of lightness in Merrilyn’s expression made the clerk very beautiful. The blacksmith blushed again and turned back to the desk to hide her face.   
  
Clearing her voice with a slight cough, Belle responded, “I think if we actually gave you something bigger than a steak knife, you might find you’d do more damage than you think.”  
  
Behind her, Merrilyn made no reply, but Belle could hear the scrape of more food being dumped onto the clerk’s plate. The blacksmith smiled. Giving the redhead a few minutes to eat in peace, Belle went over her list again, occasionally jotting down a few more items.  
  
When Belle finally returned to the table, Merrilyn was placing a last bite of pheasant in her mouth. The blacksmith handed her the parchment, and the clerk’s eyes quickly scanned down the list.  
  
“Seems straight forward enough.”  
  
“Good.” Belle hesitated, then said, “Merrilyn, I have another request for you, if you think you’re up to it.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“You can go places and speak to people that I can’t. Prentax won’t let me out of my chambers without a guard. I need you to be my eyes and ears. I’ll do what I can to stall Prentax, but if there’s any opportunity to escape I need to find it. Will you help me?”  
  
Merrilyn pondered this for a moment. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”  
  
“Name it.”  
  
“If you escape, you won’t forget that there are those of us who can’t escape. Aydindril won’t survive very long without the Mother Confessor, not after the last occupation. If you escape, you see to it she makes it back, that she throws out these mongrels.”  
  
Belle had no idea how she would accomplish such a thing, but the solemn look in Merrilyn’s eyes made her brash. “You have my word.”  
  
The clerk stood and straightened the front of her dress with her hands. She seemed to be contemplating something, with her head cocked to one side and her eyes unfocused. When her gaze came back to Belle’s, her jaw was set.  
  
“Now you need to hit me.”  
  
“W-what?!” stuttered Belle. This was the last thing she had expected Merrilyn to say, and she stammered in confusion.  
  
“Hit me. I’m sure the guards heard the fight, and you know what they think I’m really here for.”  
  
“I will not hit you!” protested the blacksmith.  
  
At this the clerk gave her a soft, sad smile and placed a warm hand on Belle’s cheek. Her hazel eyes were clouded. “You really are more courageous than you are smart, aren’t you? Your reputation with Prentax relies on the fact that you have turned your back on the Mother Confessor _and_ her people. The ruckus we created will arouse suspicions unless we make it look as if you had your way with me.”  
  
Belle was utterly appalled at the suggestion. She had absolutely no intention of harming the clerk, but Merrilyn must have seen her thoughts in her expression, because the clerk sighed in what sounded like exasperation, picked up a goblet from the table, and smacked herself soundly in the face with it.  
  
“Spirits, are you insane?!” hissed Belle as she snatched the goblet from Merrilyn’s hand. She grabbed a napkin from the table and dabbed at the cut on Merrilyn’s cheek. The cheek was already swollen and the blacksmith knew Merrilyn’s eye would blacken soon. However, the clerk waved her away.  
  
“Let me finish,” Merrilyn said impatiently. The clerk reached for a knife and set about ripping open one sleeve of her dress near the shoulder and tearing several gashes in the length of her skirt. Belle was dumbstruck. When Merrilyn finished, she opened her arms as if showing off her handiwork to the blacksmith.  
  
“So, how do I look?” she asked.  
  
“Awful,” Belle blurted out. This time she felt the blush reach all the way to her ears. “No, I don’t mean awful…I mean…you’re-“  
  
“You really do know how to make a lady feel special, Belle.” There was an amused look on Merrilyn’s face. “But your reaction tells me I’ve done a good enough job. Now, escort me out, and do try to look smug and satisfied with yourself. If you’re blushing like a schoolgirl, we’ll have no chance. And Belle?”  
  
“Yes?” Belle managed to squeak out.  
  
“From now on, call me Merry.”  
  
Belle swallowed hard. She must have managed to compose herself adequately, because after the guard let Merrilyn out, he shared a knowing, lewd look with the blacksmith. Belle slammed the door in his face. Hours later her cheek still seemed to tingle where Merrilyn had touched it.  
  
***  
  
Cara couldn’t tell how long she had been in the cell. There was no daylight to tell her when the sun rose and set, and the guards seemed to check on her at random intervals. She speculated that it had been two days since she’d last seen Prentax. Other than the occasional healer that tended to her shoulder, no one entered the cell. They had seen fit to release her from her chains, but this afforded no new opportunities to escape as the guards simply refused to step foot beyond the cell door. She might have had a chance to free herself if she could grab one of them, but they simply shoved food and water through a slot in the door, refusing to be goaded by her taunts. At one point she had pinned one of the healers to the floor, her arm around his neck, and pointedly told the guards she would kill him if they did not let her go. They laughed and told her that there were ten more healers where he came from. After a tense few minutes, Cara had let the petrified healer go.   
  
Now she sat in one of the corners of the cell, her back propped against the wall. She had given up on pacing and simply waited, though for what, even she herself could not say. She had tried replaying the visit with Prentax over again in her head, but there seemed to be shroud of confusion around those memories. She could remember his smugness and her anger, but the rest was just a hazy wash of blue. When she pressed her mind too hard, trying to clarify the images or remember what was actually said, her head would start to pound. She had tried this several times, but after each attempt provided her with no answers and a splitting skull, she abandoned any efforts along this line.  
  
It seemed to Cara that there was something else she should remember, too. The image of Belle swam through her brain, but she couldn’t see how the blacksmith possibly had something to do with her current predicament. The Mord’Sith hadn’t laid eyes on Belle since the blacksmith ran after the Mother Confessor on Cara’s orders. Eventually she put these thoughts aside too, choosing instead to contemplate alternative escape strategies, though her options appeared limited.  
  
The scrape of boots just outside the cell door caused Cara to leap to her feet, her reverie broken. The door swung wide and a person was shoved hard through the door, followed by Prentax and a living mountain of a soldier. The air in the room felt suddenly thin and Cara had a difficult time drawing a breath as she looked at the figure standing before her. Kahlan. They had captured Kahlan.  
  
The Mother Confessor stood rigid and proud, her bearing as regal as ever, but her hands were bound with iron manacles, and the thin, ugly band of the Rada’Han marred the smooth skin of her throat. Her dark travelling leathers were dusty and bloody, but Cara could find no evidence that the rusty stains belonged to the Mother Confessor herself. Cara’s heart began to beat again when she realized that, captive or not, Kahlan appeared whole and unharmed. Neither spoke, but their eyes met briefly and Cara was heartened by the ferocity and feeling reflected in Kahlan’s blue eyes. However, Kahlan’s face remained cold and impassive, belying the unspoken words in her gaze.  
  
Another shove from the enormous guard sent Kahlan stumbling forward and Cara caught her before the Confessor could fall. She grasped Kahlan’s arms, steadying her, letting her hands linger for a moment. A low sound, almost like a growl, emanated from the back of Cara’s throat and she took a step towards the guard. Prentax smoothly stepped between them, raising a hand that stayed both Cara and the behemoth, who glowered at Cara over his master’s shoulder.  
  
“It would do you well to behave, Cara.”  
  
“And it would do you well to remember that a wizard’s power is useless against a Mord’Sith. You shouldn’t have freed my hands,” Cara snarled. She lunged forward, swinging a fist toward Prentax’s face.  
  
The next few moments were a blur. Prentax’s guard shoved the wizard aside, blocking Cara’s blow with his own meaty shoulder. The wizard spun like a cat and brought his hand to shoulder height, casting a spell as he twisted away from Cara. The Mord’Sith lifted her own hands to block the magic, but it was Kahlan that screamed. Cara whirled around at the sound to see Kahlan gripping her head, agony contorting the Confessor’s face. Then the guard’s fist, like a slab of meat wrapped in steel, collided with Cara’s jaw, dropping her to the ground, stunned.  
  
Stars clouded Cara’s vision, but she could make out the form of Prentax standing over her. “You may be able to deflect my powers, Mord’Sith, but your precious Confessor cannot. Remember that. Now that I have your full attention, I have a very special task for you.”  
  
Cara glared at him as she dragged herself up to a seated position. Her chin throbbed, but the lights in front of her eyes were dissipating. Prentax crouched down, his hands resting lightly on his knees. His face spread in a sickeningly disingenuous smile.  
  
“You are going to break the Mother Confessor for me.”  
  
Cara would have laughed out loud if Prentax’s yellow eyes weren’t boring into her own in a disconcerting fashion. Instead she managed to spit out, “Are you mad?”  
  
The wizard ignored her question. “You will do this for me, Cara, or I will let Nolan here,” he indicated the guard who had flattened Cara, “and his men take their pleasure with the Mother Confessor before I subject her to an exquisitely long and painful death. It would, of course, be regrettable to lose the Mother Confessor, but she is no use to me if she is not compliant.”  
  
Half a dozen angry retorts crossed Cara’s mind, but the cold tendrils of fear curled inside her, and she swallowed the words before she could utter them. She could not, would not break Kahlan. The very idea revolted her. But her mind could not even begin to contemplate the wizard’s alternative. The guard, Nolan, crossed his arms over his chest, a leer smeared across his features. Cara turned her head away from him, searching for Kahlan behind her. The Mother Confessor was on her hands and knees, breathing heavily, still weak from Prentax’s spell. Cara’s gut churned with impotent fury and indignation. Her Lady, her mistress, her lover was a mere arm’s length away, yet it could have been a hundred leagues for all the protection Cara could provide her.  
  
“I’m sure this is a very hard decision for you,” said Prentax, his smile widening. “I’ll give you half a day to make up your mind.”  
  
He stood and headed toward the door, Nolan following close behind. The wizard paused at the threshold. He pulled a bundle from his robes and tossed it on the ground halfway between himself and Cara. The leather wrappings of the package split open as it hit the stones, revealing the hilt of one of Cara’s agiels.  
  
“I thought you might need these. I expect when I return that you will be busy training the Mother Confessor, although I suspect Nolan will be very happy if you are not.”  
  
Cara waited until the door to the cell had closed and the footsteps of the wizard and the guard faded before she allowed herself to reach for Kahlan. She spun around, coming to her knees beside Kahlan. Her hands flew over the Confessor’s body, checking more thoroughly for any injury. Anger surged in her as her gaze took in the manacles. Cara knew that every night for six years, Kahlan’s father had bound Kahlan’s hands as a child for fear of her touch, after his own confession had died with Kahlan’s mother. The sight of the restraints on the Mother Confessor’s wrists only reinforced Cara’s rage and frustration – another reminder that there was little she could do to aid Kahlan. Her features must have betrayed her feelings because Kahlan smiled weakly at her and raised her chained hands to Cara’s face, smoothing the worry lines in the Mord’Sith’s face with her thumbs.  
  
“I’m alright, Cara. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”  
  
Cara couldn’t force words past the lump in her throat. She was thrilled to see her lover alive, relieved that she was not hurt, furious that Kahlan was here when she should have been leagues away, and, though Cara couldn’t admit it to herself, terrified of what might come next. Prentax had offered them a Keeper’s bargain, with no way to win. When her voice would not come, Cara simply pulled Kahlan into a tight embrace, planting gentle kisses on Kahlan’s lips and forehead. A creeping, surreal sensation crawled up Cara’s spine when her lips touched Kahlan’s skin, but she dismissed it as the after-effects of the magic as the scent of her lover, snow and pine and soap, washed over her.  
  
Finally Cara was able to swallow and she asked gruffly, “What are you doing here?”  
  
Kahlan laughed hollowly. “I never made it out of Aydindril. The way to the Wizard’s Keep was blocked by the dragons. I don’t know what happened to Zedd. A farrier’s family has been hiding me in their stables for the last three days, but Prentax’s men started conducting building by building searches. So the farrier, Amon, concealed me under the false bottom of a cart and tried smuggling me out of the city last night. We got caught. I think they killed Amon.”  
  
Kahlan’s face was tight, her eyes distant, as she spoke these last words. Cara was always amazed that the Mother Confessor could lead thousands into brutal battles, knowing how few would survive, yet the fate of a single man could come close to breaking Kahlan’s heart.   
  
“Kahlan, we need to find a way out of here, now.”  
  
“How?”  
  
Cara grimaced. How indeed? She’d been working on this very problem for more than two days with no solution and though Kahlan’s skills as a fighter were impressive, they meant as little as Cara’s own prowess while locked in a room with no one worth fighting. The Rada’Han assured that Kahlan’s magic was useless, and besides, no guard had been foolish enough to enter the cell with Cara alone. With Kahlan present as well, Cara was sure that no guard would even entertain the idea.  
  
“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for Prentax to come back,” grumbled Cara. “You have nothing on you we could use?”  
  
“Nothing. They took everything,” replied Kahlan, shaking her head. Kahlan’s eyes became fixed and Cara followed her gaze, landing on the agiels in the center of the room. “Cara-“  
  
“No! Don’t even think it, Kahlan. I am not going to do what Prentax asks.” Cara could feel anger and disgust curdling her insides. Her hands clenched into fists at her side.  
  
“My love,” Kahlan began softly. Cara shut her eyes, refusing to meet Kahlan’s. “My love, you may have no choice.”  
  
Cara stood suddenly, almost thrusting Kahlan away from her in her haste. She stalked to the door of the cell, her back to the Mother Confessor. She wrapped her gloved fists around the metal bars in the small window and pulled with all her might. She knew even as she did it that it was a futile gesture, but she would do anything not to face what Kahlan was suggesting. Shame bubbled up inside of her, mixing with her anger in a sickening brew. _She_ was supposed to _protect_ Kahlan, and she was failing miserably. Cara’s mind frantically cast about for something that she had missed, something that would free them from this impossible situation, but it found nothing. Her grip tightened on the bars, and her knuckles popped from the strain. She heard Kahlan rise behind her, and was not surprised when she felt Kahlan’s hands on the small of her back.  
  
“Cara, I know what an agiel feels like. I can stand the pain. I have before.”  
  
“Kahlan, you don’t know what you’re asking of me,” Cara said in an anguished whisper. The pain in her fingers barely cut through the ache in her chest.  
  
“Yes, I do. I am asking you to keep me safe from Prentax and his men until we can figure out a way out of this.” Kahlan’s hands tugged on her, drawing her from the door, forcing her to face the Confessor. Kahlan’s sapphire eyes bored into her own.  
  
“Kahlan, breaking someone is not something you can fake. Even if I hold back, it’s not like the pain you’ve experienced before. When you’ve been struck with an agiel in the past it was used as a weapon, nothing more. It was painful, yes, but also impersonal. Breaking a person is different. It’s more intimate, more painful.”  
  
“All you need to do is convince Prentax that you’re breaking me. You don’t need to actually break me.”  
  
“For how long?” Cara asked incredulously. “A few hours, a day, a week?”  
  
“For as long as it takes,” responded Kahlan. “Cara, you can do this. I trust you.”  
  
Not for the first time, Cara wondered why. She looked at Kahlan, wondering what the Lady Rahl saw in her to inspire such confidence. Normally it would leave her with a sense of awed pride, but now she just felt bewildered. Her mind refused to accept that the only solution to their predicament may be one in which she would inflict pain upon her lover, a pain she had sworn she would never bring to anyone again. Every ounce of her being reviled the thought, even as a small voice in her head calmly suggested it might be the only rational option to keep the Mother Confessor alive. Cara’s head throbbed as her emotions warred inside of her. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. Could it?  
  
Kahlan grabbed Cara’s hands with her own. Even through her gloves Cara could feel their warmth. “What other option do we have?”  
  
The words sunk through Cara’s body, landing heavily in her gut with a leaden finality. They didn’t have any other options. They didn’t have a way out. The pain in Cara’s temples flared sharply and her vision blurred, a gauzy veil of bluish mist clouding her sight. Even as part of her seemed to accept the inevitable, another part of her mind railed against it. She stood motionless as her mind warred against itself. Finally, she came to a decision and her vision slowly cleared, the pain receding, leaving only a sick, hollow feeling in its wake.  
  
“I’ll do it,” said Cara. Her own voice sounded thick and strange, as if it was somebody else’s voice. The Mord’Sith had the sensation of standing apart from the scene, like part of her mind was simply keeping watch while her body acted on its own accord, her mouth uttering someone else’s words. She shuddered slightly. “But first there are some things I need to tell you.”


	7. The Rod and the Rada’Han

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara does things she never thought she could do, Kahlan and Zedd flounder and learn to begin again, and Belle balances Prentax’s demands with her true agenda.

Kahlan screamed. The agiel whined loudly, almost screaming too, jammed into the Confessor’s side by Cara’s steady hand. Kahlan’s agony cut through Cara like a knife, slicing deep into her heart. She had explained to the Confessor how to partition her mind, how to let the pain flow through the body without touching the inner self. When faced with the torture of being broken, most people fought to control their body’s reactions, as if holding back a scream or a moan were a victory, but it was only in disengaging the mind and releasing the body that one could truly remove the threat of the pain. Few understood this and even fewer could do it, but Kahlan was a fast learner. Cara could see from the distant look in Kahlan’s eyes that the scream was a pure reflex of the body. The Confessor had retreated into her head. Nonetheless the piercing sound flayed Cara’s soul.   
  
A grueling week had slipped away since they had begun Kahlan’s ‘training’, and each passing day tore out another chunk of Cara’s being. She had given Kahlan as much rest as possible, but it seemed that no sooner would she allow the Confessor to breathe than a guard, or sometimes Prentax himself, would appear at the cell door, staring in with silent, menacing eyes. Cara would be forced into resuming her work, and soon almost every inch of Kahlan’s exposed skin was laced with a web of welts, cuts, and bruises. Cara knew the Mother Confessor was strong, that she could bear the abuse, but every new cut, every yelp of pain, every stifled moan felt like a testament to Cara’s transgressions. After all, what kind of woman would torture her own lover? How could she have ever imagined that she was worthy of any mate, let alone the Mother Confessor?  
  
In the end it was Cara’s Mord’Sith training that steeled her nerves and kept her focused. Pain was something she understood. Too little pain and Kahlan would be taken from her to face a far worse fate, too much pain and she would risk permanent damage to the Confessor’s body and mind. For days she kept Kahlan balanced on that razor-thin edge, coaxing just enough of a response out of Kahlan to appease their captors.  
  
The scream faded as Cara lifted the agiel away from Kahlan’s midsection. The Confessor’s hands and arms were held taut over her head by a chain from the ceiling – the standard pose for any Mord’Sith trainee. The manacles cut into her wrists as Kahlan’s weak body hung limply. Kahlan gasped for air, gulping down great breaths, her mouth gaping like a fish pulled from the water. The Rada’Han at her throat bobbed up and down with each breath. Nearly choking with shame, Cara stared at the collar balefully. It was a stark reminder of how powerless Kahlan was now, and seeing the Mother Confessor in such a helpless state almost drove Cara mad with rage.   
  
“Cara.” Kahlan’s voice came out in a broken whisper, sounding hoarse and scratchy.  
  
Two different urges surged through Cara at once. The first, to lift a hand to Kahlan’s face in comfort, she suppressed only because it could endanger them both if the guards witnessed Cara’s compassion. The second, to strike Kahlan for forgetting to call her ‘Mistress’, troubled Cara far more deeply. There had been a time when a trainee would be guaranteed to feel the sting of her backhand had they failed to use her proper title, but Cara had thought that that part of her was dead and buried. Now Cara could feel the instincts she had learned from the Sisters of the Agiel reasserting themselves, and the sensation brought her no pleasure. She had worked so hard to put distance between her new life and her former self – and more importantly, between Kahlan and her former self. The idea that that woman was just below the surface of her consciousness left Cara queasy with dread.  
  
Torn between the two impulses, Cara stood frozen.  
  
“Cara.” Kahlan’s tone was stronger, more insistent.  
  
Cara blinked. She cast a wary eye towards the cell door, but for the moment there was no guard watching them. Cara responded slowly, softly, “What is it?”  
  
Blue eyes bleary and bloodshot, Kahlan peered at Cara through strands of hair that had fallen in her face. Her thick tresses were now stringy and matted from days of sweat and neglect. “We have to stop. I can’t do this anymore.”  
  
Cara had not thought it was possible for the ache in her chest to deepen anymore, but with Kahlan’s words, Cara felt as if her heart was being torn apart. She had feared this turn of events, even as she had succumbed to Kahlan’s urgings to train her. She had warned Kahlan that this point may come, when the pain was simply too fierce. Kahlan had forced Cara to promise that the Mord’Sith would persist, knowing that the alternative was an even more painful and humiliating end at Prentax’s bidding. Cara had protested and raged, but Kahlan had won out in the end. Now, Cara’s gut clenched with spasms as if it was she who had been struck with the agiel. Kahlan’s willing acceptance of the pain was one of the very few reasons Cara had acquiesced to this absurd plan. She didn’t know if she had the strength in her to continue if she had to force the Confessor.  
  
Cara sheathed her agiel, snug on her hip next to its companion. She peeled off her gloves and stuck them in her belt. She drew close to Kahlan and placed gentle fingers on both of the Confessor’s cheeks, carefully avoiding any bruises. She rubbed her thumbs over Kahlan’s high cheekbones in small circles.  
  
“Kahlan, listen to me,” Cara began, her voice calm and measured. “Do you remember why I’m doing this, what Prentax will do if I don’t?”  
  
Kahlan nodded, closing her eyes, her mouth a thin line. Cara moved even closer to the Confessor, placing her forehead on Kahlan’s. She hated herself for having to remind Kahlan what was at stake.   
  
“Aydindril needs you alive, Kahlan. I need you alive. But you’ll only stay alive if we do this.”  
  
Cara could feel Kahlan’s forehead wrinkle under her own, and the muscles of Kahlan’s jaw tensed under Cara’s fingers. The Confessor remained silent. Not for the first time, a voice in Cara’s head railed against the injustice of their situation. Her heart screamed at her to stop, to free Kahlan immediately, and pull the Confessor into her arms. But she had a duty to protect the Lady Rahl, and, if she was forced to admit the selfish truth, she _did_ need Kahlan alive.  
  
“Do you want to stay alive?” Cara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Kahlan nodded again, her eyes still closed.  
  
“Do you want me to continue then?”  
  
For a long, agonizing moment, the Confessor did not react. Cara held her breath, afraid that Kahlan would say no and equally afraid that she would say yes. The throbbing was back, her brain feeling as if it were too large for her skull. Then Kahlan gave one slight nod. Cara felt a wave of relief flood through her, followed by a wave of guilt. She needed Kahlan’s permission, but having gotten it returned her thoughts to the task at hand. She laced her fingers through the locks of Kahlan’s hair behind her neck.  
  
“Remember what I taught you. It will keep you safe, even when you think you can’t stand it anymore. Trust me. ”  
  
Then Cara kissed Kahlan, her lips searching out some sort of absolution she knew she would not find. The Confessor’s mouth moved under her own, but all Cara could feel was cold seeping into the core of her being. She dropped a hand to her agiel, retrieving it from its sheath. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then brought it up hard under Kahlan’s chin. The tentacles of pain passed through the Confessor’s body into Cara’s. Kahlan screamed into her mouth, but Cara kept her lips clamped to Kahlan’s. As the fire crackled along the nerves in her body, Cara swallowed Kahlan’s pain - and her own.  
  
***  
  
The rain poured down in great, heavy torrents, with fat, hard droplets driven at an angle by the howling wind. Kahlan shivered as the cold water doused her and Zedd yet again, soaking them to the skin. It had been raining for three straight days, a mix of cloud bursts, like the one they were stumbling through now, and monotonous, gray drizzle. Normally docile creeks swelled, and the rushing waters made crossing them a treacherous affair. The earth beneath their feet was saturated and the trail they were following was a slippery, muddy mess. Kahlan was sure that, had it not been for the Night Wisps, she and Zedd would have lost the path altogether several times.  
  
For the first week, Zedd and Kahlan had made careful but steady progress toward Aydindril, travelling mostly at night and sticking to the woodsmen’s paths and game trails in the thick woods. They avoided the main roads whenever possible. They scavenged for what food they could find, occasionally finding a bush of gagnon berries or a squirrel’s stash of winter nuts. Richard had taught Kahlan to use snares, but they had no time to wait for the snares to do their job, and without a bow she could take no game while on the move. The wizard had complained often and loudly about his empty stomach, but Kahlan knew it was just Zedd’s way of passing the time.   
  
Then the skies had opened up, drenching them. The first night, Zedd had managed to start a fire with his magic, but it could not dry their sodden clothes as water still dripped relentlessly from the limbs of the tree under which they’d taken shelter. Though the enchanted flames resisted the rain’s attempt to smother them, the fire offered little warmth. After that they didn’t bother lighting a fire again. Zedd had stopped complaining after the second day of storms. The wizard’s silence, combined with a persistent cough that he could not hide, worried Kahlan far more than his laments could. Yet they trudged on. There was no shelter for them in the forest that seemed to be slowly drowning around them. The rain was so persistent and the skies so gloomy, Kahlan could practically feel the damp chill creeping through her body and into her soul. At times she was sure they were no closer to Aydindril than they had been three days ago.  
  
The trail ahead of them narrowed as it climbed a small but steep rise. Kahlan hauled herself up the hill, gripping saplings on either side of the path for support. She could hear Zedd grunting with effort as he climbed up behind her. When they reached the top, a fit of coughing overcame the wizard, wracking his body and bending him over. Kahlan put a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.  
  
“We need to get out of this rain, Zedd,” she said as his coughs subsided, “or we’re not going to make it to Aydindril in any shape to fight a cold, let alone an army.”  
  
“I’m fine,” protested Zedd, though another round of coughing undermined his assertion. “Don’t worry about me.”  
  
“Let’s be sure you stay fine,” replied Kahlan. In her heart, she wanted nothing more than to keep going, but reason told her they’d both be better off if they found some shelter and dried off for a little while. She gave a short whistle and Stella zipped up to her. Even as the dreary world around them wilted with gray sogginess, the Night Wisps had somehow remained chipper and perky.  
  
“Zedd and I need to rest, somewhere out of the rain. Is there anything nearby?”  
  
The wisp chirped.  
  
“Show us,” said Kahlan.   
  
The Night Wisp flew off a short distance, then paused, waiting for Kahlan and Zedd to follow. They followed at a slow pace, the trail narrowing even further and becoming overgrown with brambles. Over and over, Stella zoomed ahead and then returned to Kahlan, her tiny form unimpeded by the thick vegetation that tangled in the humans’ clothes and hair. Finally, the trail widened into a small clearing. In the clearing sat the ruins of a woodsman’s hut, half of the roof collapsed after years of neglect. The rough-hewn logs were covered with moss and fungus, and where the wood showed through, its surface was blackened with rain and decay. Yet Kahlan could see that enough of the structure remained to provide them shelter.  
  
Squeezing through the open door-frame that leaned threateningly to one side, Kahlan found herself in half a room barely big enough to fit three sleeping men, but in the dim light filtering in from the door-frame and the collapsed wall, she could see that the dirt floor was dry. Apparently this part of the roof remained waterproof. Kahlan sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Creator. Then she called for the wizard to join her. He eased in through the doorway, his tall frame twisting to slide through. When he stood up, his head brushed the rafters, but he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to be relieved as she was just to be out of the rain.  
  
Kahlan wanted nothing more than to settle into a heap on the floor, but she had noticed some burdock near the edge of the clearing. They needed food almost as badly as they needed shelter. She eyed the rain outside balefully, not relishing the prospect of digging up roots, but there was no way around it.  
With a deep sigh, the Confessor said, “Zedd, make us a fire if you can. I think some of the wood is loose on that back wall, but be careful you don’t bring the place down around your head.”  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“There’s a patch of burdock out there. I thought you might like something to put in that growling belly of yours tonight.” She gave him a weak smile, which he returned, equally as half-hearted. They both knew the roots would be no feast, but it was better than going hungry again.  
  
Kahlan pulled her hood up over her head. It was soaked as thoroughly as the rest of her, but at least it kept the rain out of her eyes while she dug. Using a piece of a jagged-edged plank as a makeshift trowel, she flung sodden clumps of earth out of the way. Soon she had four of the rough, wrist-thick roots set aside. She knew they’d probably need more, for breakfast if nothing else, but her own stamina was flagging and the temptation of a fire and a dry room proved to be too powerful.  
  
The fire crackled merrily in the center of the small room, greeting Kahlan as she reentered the hut. Zedd was in the far corner, wringing water out of his robes. Long past modesty with her old travel companion, she peeled off the white Confessor’s dress, now turned a muddled shade of gray-brown from days of travel. She wrung it out in a corner and hung it from a broken piece of rafter near the fire. In nothing but her corset and her black skirt, Kahlan crouched by the flames, while Zedd settled himself across from her with a satisfied groan. Goosebumps covered her bare arms, but at least her skin was drying for the first time in days. As the warmth rolled over her in delicious waves, she could feel her muscles slowly unclench. She had been shivering for so long that she’d long ceased noticing the way it made her ache.   
  
Kahlan threw the burdock roots in the embers. Their tough skins would scorch, but at least the white flesh in their center would make for the evening’s meal, meager as it was. Then she too found a seat close to the fire. The Night Wisps hovered in one corner, humming softly, conversing among themselves in voices too low for Kahlan to make out. With a dry roof overhead, the prospect of food on the horizon, the fire warming her bones, and the droning of the Wisps, the Confessor let herself relax for the first time in over a week. Staring into the flames, she let her mind drift. At first, her reflections briefly touched on the fate of Aydindril, the wizard Prentax, and the battle ahead, but they finally snagged on thoughts of Cara. Kahlan had not let herself think too much about her lover as she and Zedd forged their way through the woods. Too many emotions welled up when she dared ponder the whereabouts of the blonde Mord’Sith, and Kahlan knew it would do neither of them any good if she turned into a hysterical mess. Yet now that there was no other task at hand with which to distract herself, the Confessor’s heart wrested control of her thoughts from her mind.  
  
Grimacing, Kahlan wondered where Cara was now. Had Cara made it safely from the city? Was she searching for Kahlan? Organizing the remnants of the Home Guard and gathering allies to fight Prentax? Had she been captured…or…or…killed? Kahlan shuddered at the last possibility. Surely, some part of her would have known, but then again, she had not known with Richard. It was only naïve hope that it would be any different with Cara.   
  
Before she could drive herself completely mad contemplating the unbearable, she forced her musings onto more pleasant grounds. She tried to picture Cara as she had been on the day when the Mord’Sith had finally returned her advances. Kahlan had stunned Cara by admitting her feelings toward the blonde warrior on an afternoon ride through the countryside. For two weeks after, neither of them could look at each other, and the Mord’Sith took every opportunity to avoid the company of the Confessor. Eventually though, Cara had come to dine with Kahlan. At this memory, Kahlan smiled. Only under great duress and the direct order of the Lady Rahl had the Mord’Sith come, but eventually, late in the evening, Cara had made her own feelings known…  
  
A sharp cough from Zedd startled Kahlan from her reverie.  
  
“Once, you would have looked that way thinking about Richard,” the wizard said, his gray-blue eyes inscrutable as he stared at her from across the fire.  
  
“Am I so easy to read as all that?” replied Kahlan, chuckling.  
  
Zedd did not echo her humor. His expression carried a trace of something Kahlan did not fully understand – disapproval perhaps, or even anger? The Confessor was taken aback. She was baffled by the wizard’s reaction.  
  
“Zedd, what is it?” she asked, disturbed by the strange look he was giving her.  
  
The wizard shook his head, as if clearing away an unpleasant thought. Evasively, he said, “Forgive me, Kahlan. Just an old man’s slow wits, nothing more.”  
  
“You may consider yourself old, Zedd, but there is nothing slow about you. And you know full well that you can’t lie to a Confessor. What’s bothering you?” she persisted.  
  
Zedd took a long time answering. He turned his eyes from her and considered the fire instead, his countenance grave. The silence lingered so long that Kahlan thought that he might not reply at all, but finally the wizard stirred.  
  
“Cara…does she make you happy?”  
  
Of all the responses that Kahlan expected, this was not one. Her brows knitted together in surprise and confusion, but she answered earnestly.  
  
“Yes, she does.”  
  
“Why?” The wizard’s voice was a mix of great sadness, curiosity, and a hint of resentment. In his eyes, his emotions battled each other for the upper hand, swirling in a tangled mass that startled Kahlan. Not once had Zedd broached the subject of Cara with her, and Kahlan was starting to suspect why.  
  
“You don’t approve of her?” she asked softly.  
  
It was Zedd’s turn to grimace. “It’s not that I don’t approve, exactly. It’s just that-“  
  
“That she’s not Richard?” asked Kahlan gently.  
  
The wizard’s head jerked up and, as his eyes met Kahlan’s, she knew she had struck upon the truth.   
Without a word, Kahlan rose from her place and circled around the fire, taking a seat by Zedd’s side. She placed a light hand on his arm, her heart reaching out to the man that she had always turned to for wisdom and council, the man that had become as much a grandfather to her as he had been to Richard. At the touch, he looked from her hand to her face. Kahlan’s tone was solemn, as she began to speak.  
  
“Zedd, you asked why Cara makes me happy. I don’t think I can tell you all of it, but in part, it’s because she reminds me that I’m alive. She reminds me that underneath the exterior of the Mother Confessor, there is a living, breathing woman. For a long time after Richard died, I didn’t know if that part of me existed anymore, but Cara brought it back to me.”  
  
Kahlan searched Zedd’s eyes for understanding. “Would you have me play the part of Richard’s widow for the rest of my life?”  
  
Color rose in Zedd’s cheeks, and she knew that at least a small part of the wizard did indeed wish that very thing, though he would hardly admit it. If she put herself in his position, she could even make sense of it. Zedd had buried his father, his daughter, and eventually, his grandson, all in the name of overthrowing the tyranny wrought upon D’Hara and the Midlands by the Rahl family. Losing Richard was more than another tragedy – it was a blow that lesser men would have crumbled under. Yet the First Wizard had continued to serve the Mother Confessor without faltering. Only now did Kahlan begin to comprehend the toll that had been exacted on the old man’s heart. Initially, she had been so wrapped in her own pain, and then later, in the thrill of a new love that she had never given more than passing thought to Zedd’s struggles. This realization shamed her.  
  
“I owe you an apology, Zedd,” she began.  
  
“Kahlan-“ he raised his voice to protest, some of the normal gentleness returning to his eyes.  
  
“Hear me out. Sometimes you are so strong, I forget that you are human, too,” she said sadly. “I’ve been like a child, who thinks that their parent is invincible. I can’t imagine what losing Richard must have been like for you – what it is like for you still. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it before.”  
  
Zedd’s eyes did not waver from hers, but as she watched, they began to glisten in the firelight. When he did not speak, she continued.  
  
“Maybe you think that I have forgotten Richard, or that I’ve tried to replace him with Cara?”  
  
“No, of course, not,” he said quickly, his voice gruff with unshed tears. “Kahlan, I trust your judgment as I would Richard’s – perhaps better than I would Richard’s.”  
  
The wizard grinned wryly at this last statement, but tears still shimmered in his eyes. They both knew that Richard had always been more likely to think with his heart than his head, and it had caused all of them a great deal of trouble on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, Kahlan knew it had been one of Richard’s strengths as much as it had been one of his weaknesses.  
  
“Then what is it, Zedd? And please don’t say that it’s nothing. I’ve seen the distance between you and Cara grow ever since she returned to Aydindril. Do you blame her,” she hesitated, then forged ahead, “for Richard’s death? Is that it?”  
  
Zedd sighed, and Kahlan felt his shoulders sag a little.  
  
“It’s not that, Kahlan. I know Cara well enough to know that she did everything she possibly could, and then some, to save Richard. I’m ashamed to admit that I would have been happier if you had waited much longer than you did to find someone new. But that’s only part of it. As to another, well, let me just say that Cara seemed too quick to take up the mantle of your – consort.”  
  
Kahlan bristled at the title Zedd used for Cara, but she forced herself to relax. From the outside it may have indeed seemed as if Cara had succeeded Richard with some haste.   
  
Biting back a sharp retort, instead Kahlan replied, “Did you know that it was I who pursued her?”  
  
Zedd’s look of surprise confirmed that he had not. Kahlan’s next words tumbled out before she could reconsider their wisdom. She realized even as she was saying them that she had never told Zedd exactly because she feared what his reaction would be.  
  
“After Richard died, I didn’t know which end was up, and almost losing Cara on top of it all nearly broke me. Yet even as she was recovering from her own wounds, she took care of me. She was always there, holding me up, keeping me safe. I can’t explain it, Zedd. It’s not – it’s not like it was with Richard. You know Cara. She’s all edges where Richard would be gentle, silent when he would be overjoyed. It’s different, and believe me I haven’t forgotten Richard, but I’ve come to realize what I feel for Cara is just as strong. I love her more than I can say.”  
  
Zedd was mute as Kahlan paused for breath, so she nervously let her words continue to spill out.  
  
“It’s true that Cara had feelings for me, perhaps even before we lost Richard. But not once did she express those feelings to me, not a single word. It was me, Zedd. It was I who told her how I felt first. It was I who confronted her. Even then, she did not want to betray Richard’s memory by acknowledging her feelings, but I didn’t give her much of a choice. So if you need to blame someone, Zedd, blame me. I’m the one you should hate, not Cara.”  
  
Zedd mulled her words over in silence, his eyes once again almost unreadable. Then he let out a long, pained sigh.  
  
“I don’t hate her, and the Creator knows, I could never hate you, Kahlan. But, Spirits help me, every time I see her with you, I can’t help but think that it should be him standing there, instead of her. Every time I see her, it reminds me that he’s not there.”  
  
“Then you and she have a lot in common,” said Kahlan, almost bitterly. “I think sometimes she really does wish it was she who had died up in that mountain pass, even now. Everyone wants to be the hero, but no one wants to live with the aftermath, with...”  
  
 _With her_ – the unsaid words seemed to ring in the air. Zedd seemed to be flustered by her sudden despair. He looked at her as if he were seeing part of her for the first time.  
  
“I think we’ve both made the mistake of thinking the other stronger than mere mortals,” he said contritely. He placed a gnarled hand over her own. Softly, he added, “I am glad that there is someone to care for your heart. And I hope she has the good sense to realize what a precious gift she’s been given.”  
  
Kahlan gave him a sad smile, a smile that the wizard returned. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She knew that no words from her would take the sting of Richard’s loss away from Zedd’s heart, but maybe, after tonight, he would no longer look on Cara with such bitter eyes.  
  
After a few moments, during which they were both lost in their own thoughts, Zedd shifted slightly. Wistfully he said, “Perhaps, when I get back, and this Prentax is taken care of, I should see to naming a new Seeker.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Kahlan replied evenly, carefully hiding her amazement. Zedd had never spoken of naming a new Seeker. Of course, seeing the Sword of Truth in another’s hands would be yet another reminder of Richard’s death. Perhaps talking about Richard was finally giving the wizard the release he needed to be able to move forward.  
  
Kahlan gave him a slight shake on the arm. “But one thing at a time. I believe our burdock roots have finally cooked.”  
  
“That is definitely the best thing I’ve heard all night,” he said, his tone brightening markedly, and for the first time in days he gave her a smile that actually reached his eyes.  
  
***  
  
The familiarity of the forge comforted Belle, regardless of the circumstances that brought her here. The blast of heat from the open furnace baking the skin of her face and arms was like the embrace of a long-lost friend. She let the blaze seep into her muscles, as she waited for the next batch of steel to be ready to pour into the mold she’d made for Prentax’s weapons. _The fireshots_ , the men had started calling them when she’d said she had no name for them. A few of the men had other names. The Keeper’s Friends seemed to be the most popular alternative she’d heard – or at least the most colorful. Just as she had first proposed to Merry, the blacksmith had held an exhibition for Prentax and his men with the first of the fireshots. Prentax was more than pleased when the ball as large as Belle’s head had cut through an oak as big around as the arm span of three grown men. He’d clapped and his men roared their approval, but all Belle could think was that it was a waste of a beautiful tree.  
  
After that Prentax had seemed to be a little less wary of Belle, though guards still dogged her heels throughout the Palace. Accordingly, she spent most of her time in the smithy and in the workshop across the main courtyard, where she had been putting together the barrels of powder. She had finished nine fireshots in twelve days, and almost all of the barrels. Belle couldn’t help the small smile that slipped across her lips thinking about the weapons. After pouring the first fireshot she’d altered the mold slightly. Only another blacksmith would have noticed, but it ensured that every fireshot after that had a fatal weakness. Each would have maybe one, at most two, good shots in them before the cylinders would peel open from the force of the powder. With a little luck, the weapons would be rendered useless as soon as they were fired for the first time. And with even more luck, Belle would not be around when Prentax found out.  
  
Ever since the first day, when Belle had convinced Merry to join her in her scheme, the clerk had performed magnificently, including aiding Belle’s plans of escape for herself and Cara. With astounding efficiency, Merry had not only requisitioned supplies for the blacksmith’s official duties, but she had also made contacts with the burgeoning resistance in Aydindril, ferreted out the guard rotation for Cara’s cell, and squirreled away provisions for the journey. Even in the atmosphere of dark suspicion that permeated the Confessors Palace, the clerk seemed to be able to move unnoticed at will. When Belle had remarked on Merry’s uncanny knack for evading scrutiny and finding what she needed, the clerk had given her a mysterious smile and told her that any clerk worth their salt always knew how to be unseen, while knowing exactly who to see. Now Belle needed only one more piece before she could set her escape plans in motion, and as usual, it fell to Merry to provide.  
  
As if the blacksmith’s thoughts conjured her up, the red-haired clerk strode into the smithy. Merry pulled her cloak off and shook it out with a decisive snap, flinging water drops everywhere. A few stray droplets shimmered in her fiery curls. Belle resisted the urge to run her hand over the clerk’s hair and wipe away the rain, instead picking up a hammer as if she were examining it closely. The blacksmith blushed when the clerk gave her a shrewd, knowing look, but Merry thankfully chose not to comment.  
  
“By the Creator, it’s raining pails and buckets out there!” Merry said.  
  
“Yes, it is,” agreed Belle lamely. Once again, she inwardly winced at how tongue-tied she became around the clerk.  
  
With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the guards posted outside the smithy were not watching, Merry dropped her voice to a low whisper, “I’ve got what you need.”  
  
The clerk pulled out a heavy, iron key from a pocket in her dress and held it out to Belle. Grinning, the blacksmith took it from her excitedly.  
  
“How-“  
  
“The chief jailer’s got a spare set. A little Weatherwax root in his cup of wine with the midday meal and he was as senseless as a stoned hare. I can tell you, Mistress Sanderholt didn’t need much convincing, either. Seems he’s been getting a bit too forward with her serving girls.”  
  
Merry’s eyes glittered with something that Belle thought must be glee, though the clerk’s face was stern and her tone was a business-like as usual.  
  
“I’ve got to get it back soon though. I only gave him a small dose. We didn’t want to have him out too long. If someone comes along and can’t wake him, it might raise suspicions.”  
  
“Of course. Just give me a minute.”  
  
Belle hurried to one of her workbenches and opened up the left-hand drawer. She withdrew a small box, barely larger than the key itself. She pried the lid off the box, revealing the wax inside both halves of the container. Quickly she thrust the key in one half and closed the box tightly. Once she was sure that the key’s imprint was set in the wax, she carefully retrieved the key from the box. Wiping it off with a rag to remove any traces of wax, she handed it back to Merry.  
  
“I’ll need a couple of days. I need time to make the key and I want to make sure everything is set,” said Belle hastily. “Are you sure Prentax suspects nothing?”  
  
“Well, Prentax and his officers keep their own confidences, of course, but from everything I’m overhearing from the guards, our grand lord wizard is very happy about your fireshots,” answered Merry as she drew her cloak around her again. “I should go.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The clerk looked like she wanted to say something more, but she turned to leave instead. In a move that surprised even her, Belle captured Merry’s elbow. The clerk gave her a startled look.  
  
“Will I see you tonight?” Belle asked quietly.  
  
Over the past fortnight, Merry had been showing up on the doorstep of the blacksmith’s chambers almost every evening. Originally it had been at the clerk’s insistence – keeping up appearances, she had insisted. It wouldn’t do to let Prentax and his men think that Belle was not enjoying her new assistant, Merry had said. Some evenings the clerk would only stay a few hours, while others she would not leave the chambers until dawn. Belle always slept in an armchair by the fire when Merry stayed the night, despite the clerk’s protests that the bed was plenty large enough for the two of them to have space and then some. Though the original purpose had been purely for show, Belle found that she enjoyed the clerk’s company, perhaps more than she ought to. While her wits might flee at the sight of the red-head, the blacksmith found that if she asked enough questions Merry would do most of the talking, and Belle was content to listen to the clerk’s stories of her family and life in Aydindril. Belle found herself wanting Merry’s visits enough that she was even willing to suffer the guard’s lewd comments and brazen ogling without comment, though she had to restrain herself when their stares swept over Merry.  
  
“Tonight?” repeated the clerk, her gaze softening as she met Belle’s eyes. Belle nodded, her breath hitching a little. Merry’s lips lifted in a soft, shy smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
Merry gently disentangled herself from Belle’s hold. She headed to the open archway leading out of the smithy, pausing at the threshold to give Belle one more glance before plunging out into the rain.  
  
***  
  
“I sent Dennee away, for you,” snarled Kahlan, twisting in the chains that held her. Her face was contorted with rage as she spat the words. “My sister, who you murdered, and still I chose you over her. Time and again I have chosen you, and this is how you repay my love.”  
  
Cara had expected that Kahlan’s anger would surface eventually, had hoped for it, really. Anything was better than the nearly catatonic state Kahlan had slipped into after Cara had convinced the Confessor to continue her training. Kahlan’s detachment had become so strong that sometimes nearly a day would go by without Cara seeing a glimmer of recognition in Kahlan’s eyes. As much as she knew that this was part of Kahlan partitioning her mind from the pain, Cara was swallowed by loneliness every time she caught the distant look in Kahlan’s eyes. Kahlan’s sudden anger had been a relief.   
  
Now, however, the words stung. Cara honestly couldn’t tell if Kahlan simply said them out of spite, or if the Confessor still resented Cara for killing her sister, even after Dennee had been brought back from the dead. Part of Cara had always suspected the latter. Especially since her new place in Kahlan’s life had caused Kahlan to lose Dennee yet again.   
  
When Cara had first returned to Aydindril with Kahlan and Richard after their successful quest for the Stone of Tears, Dennee had been cool but polite toward the Mord’Sith. Cara had expected nothing better, and had feared far worse from the woman whom she had once murdered. Yet the Mord’Sith and the resurrected Confessor had found a sort of truce as long as Cara left with Richard each time he traveled to the People’s Palace. Then things had changed.   
  
Cara could remember the shocked expression on Dennee’s face when Kahlan first told her little sister of her newfound feelings for Cara. Dennee’s eyes had almost blackened with rage as Cara hastily left the room. For nearly a week, word of the constant arguments between the Mother Confessor and her sister were all that anyone in Aydindril had seemed capable of speaking about, much to Cara’s chagrin. Then suddenly, Dennee had left Aydindril with her adopted son. Official word was that she was taking a post in one of the provincial capitals, extending the rule of law further into the Midlands. In private, Kahlan had been nearly inconsolable, though every time Cara had offered to leave and recall Dennee to Aydindril Kahlan had adamantly refused.   
  
Dragging Cara back from her memories, Kahlan continued, “How you must be enjoying this, Cara. All those months pretending to love me – it must be so much easier when you can just have me as one of your pets. How many did you break, Cara? How many pets did you make during your years as a Mord’Sith? You never did tell me.”  
  
“I am still Mord’Sith,” said Cara stiffly. “And I never told you because you didn’t want to know.”  
“I never needed to know. You were enough as you were. But look at you now, torturing the woman you supposedly love.” Kahlan’s voice was bitter.  
  
“Kahlan, you know what they will do to you if I don’t.” That reasoning somehow seemed to be weaker than it had just a few days ago as Cara looked at the expression of disgust on her lover’s face. Kahlan laughed a harsh, humorless laugh.  
  
“Stop fooling yourself, Mistress Cara. This is about control, about fear. You’re a coward. If you actually loved me you wouldn’t be doing this. Richard would never hurt me this way.”  
  
The mention of Richard’s name was like a slap. Cara knew what Kahlan was saying was true, but still she felt her own anger rise. Somehow it always circled back to him. She glowered at Kahlan. “Be quiet.”  
But Kahlan persisted, goading Cara. “At least with Richard, I never needed this damn thing around my neck.”  
  
Cara back-handed Kahlan so quickly it stunned both of them into silence. Kahlan went ghostly pale and Cara felt her cheeks flush. Cara stumbled back a step. Her insides twisted and burned with shame. She may have hurt Kahlan over the past two weeks, but not once had she truly wanted to, not once had she lost control, until now. Maybe she was the monster that Kahlan thought her to be.  
  
“It will always come down to him, won’t it?” Cara said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll never be able to love me the way you loved him.”  
  
“It was never about him,” hissed Kahlan. The fury was back in her eyes as she spat out the blood from where Cara’s blow had split her lip. “I loved you, more than I have ever loved anyone. I chose you. I sent my sister away. I refused to take a mate, when I should be trying produce children to continue the Confessor blood-line. I did that for you!”  
  
Cara stared at her as Kahlan continued.  
  
“But you held back. You hid!”  
  
“I gave you everything I had,” shouted Cara, her voice desperate and angry. “What more do you want from me?”  
  
“Your trust! Trust comes from love, but it is more than love, Cara. You never trusted me. Not completely anyway. You want to know why Richard and I could be together without me confessing him? Because he _trusted_ me, Cara. He trusted me absolutely. He didn’t need to be kept safe, because he _was_ safe. As long as you hid one part of yourself away from me, one shred, my magic could take a hold of you. Richard had nothing to fear because there was nothing in him that was not mine already. You could never let yourself love me that way. You always had to be in control. Well, now you have it, Cara, and I hope you’re happy!”  
  
Cara stumbled back even further, as if Kahlan’s words had been blows to her body. Her whole frame shook as her thoughts and emotions swirled and collided in her mind. Kahlan was right. She had been so stupid. Guilt and shame turned her stomach. Kahlan had loved her and Cara had tried to break her for it. She had told herself it was to keep Kahlan safe. If Kahlan was hers, then no one else could harm her. But it was a lie. In the end it was still about control. No matter how many ways Kahlan had shown her that she loved her, some part of Cara couldn’t believe it, resisted it, couldn’t trust it. If you can’t fix the problem, contain it, and if you can’t contain the problem, destroy it – that was the Mord’Sith way. And Cara had done just that by trying to take the Mother Confessor’s will.  
  
Cara fumbled blindly to the corner of the cell and doubled over, retching. What had she done?! Her head was swimming from the enormity of her violation. How could she make it right? She needed to free Kahlan, and…and what? She had clearly lost Kahlan, but she owed the Mother Confessor as much freedom as she could give her. Yet even out of chains and rid of the Rada’Han, Kahlan would still be stuck in this blasted cell.  
  
Cara’s head spun and the dull throbbing was beginning again, just behind her eyes. She tried to sort through her thoughts. She turned back to the Confessor, who still hung in chains. The guilt that washed over her was overwhelming. She was getting light-headed, and objects in the room seemed to blur, edges indistinct as if obscured by a light blue mist. Buzzing filled her ears, like the sound of angry bees heard from a distance.   
  
_Think_ , she ordered herself, but suddenly her thoughts moved slowly, thick and viscous like molasses. _Free Kahlan_. She moved forward, her steps halting, as if she was not quite in control of her own body. She looked down and saw the key to the Rada’Han in her hand. Had she always had it? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t quite make sense, but that didn’t seem to matter right now. She had to free Kahlan.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she unlocked the Rada’Han and removed it from Kahlan’s throat. Cara regarded it as if it were a scorpion in her hand, poised to strike. The cold, lifeless collar mocked her, its heavy weight a reminder of her failings. As if the chill of the metal were spreading through her body, Cara shivered, letting the Rada’Han drop from seemingly nerveless fingers. It clattered to the floor.  
  
“That’s not enough,” said Kahlan coldly.  
  
“I know,” Cara replied as she reached to open the shackles holding the Confessor’s wrists. As her hands touched Kahlan’s arms, the sensation stirred something in the back of her mind. It felt like something she should remember, something very important, but every time she tried to catch the memory it wriggled away again like a slippery fish. The buzzing in her ears grew louder.  
  
As soon as her wrists were free, the Confessor’s hand went to Cara’s throat. Cara struggled weakly in her grasp, but her body felt leaden. Vaguely, an alarm sounded in the depths of her mind. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what. After all, she deserved this for what she had done to Kahlan. A small voice in her mind whispered, “ _Submit_.”  
  
Cara found herself on her knees. Kahlan’s hand tightened around her throat. The Confessor leaned over her, her face inches from Cara’s. Kahlan snarled softly, “Do you surrender?”  
  
Cara wanted to. Her head was splitting and the buzzing had risen to an excruciating cacophony. The voice whispered again, “ _Let go. Submit_.” She could feel herself yielding to it, but part of her resisted.   
  
Something was definitely wrong. She cast about in her muzzy, slow mind, searching for an answer. And where was that blue light coming from?  
  
Kahlan repeated her question, “Do you surrender?”  
  
As Cara looked up at the Confessor, she noticed three pinpricks of light behind Kahlan’s head. Even over the buzzing, she could hear chirps, hums and whistles filling the air. _Night Wisps, here? What were they saying?_ She couldn’t understand them, which was strange because she had learned the magical language of the Night Wisps years ago. She frowned and tried to concentrate harder on what they were telling her. Something about the Mother Confessor coming for her. But the Mother Confessor was right here, didn’t they see?  
  
“Do you surrender?” Kahlan said a third time, her voice a whispered hiss.  
  
Cara looked back at Kahlan. Why wasn’t Kahlan saying anything to the wisps? The Night Wisps were the Confessor’s friends. Kahlan had shared a special bond with them long before she had even met Cara. Now Kahlan wasn’t even responding to their presence. What was going on?  
  
Then the answer hit Cara. It was as if the tumblers of her mind fell into place all at once, unlocking the knowledge she needed. The buzzing ceased instantly and the pain behind her eyes dissipated. The world snapped into sharp focus.  
  
Cara grabbed Kahlan’s wrist and tore it away from her throat. She stood swiftly, forcing the Confessor back, Cara’s hand still gripping Kahlan’s wrist.  
  
“You aren’t her,” said Cara darkly, her eyes blazing. “I remember what the blacksmith told me. Kahlan is free.”  
  
“Cara, of course I’m me! I’m right here in the same cell you are!” cried the Confessor, but Cara drove on relentlessly.  
  
“Kahlan would never ignore the Night Wisps. And, no matter what I did to Kahlan, she wouldn’t confess me. Oh, she might leave me, she might despise me, but she wouldn’t confess me. Because she loves me, and I-,” Cara hesitated, realizing she was about to utter something she’d never been brave enough to say aloud, “I love her.”  
  
Cara paused sucking in a deep breath. The would-be Confessor struggled in her grasp, whimpering in fear, but Cara tightened her fist around the false woman’s wrist, drawing her closer.  
  
“Understand this - _I will not surrender!_ ”  
  
There was a crack like a tree being struck by lightning, and the false Confessor disappeared, along with the chains, the Rada’Han, even Cara’s agiels. The blue glow was still there though, and seemed to be emanating from her chest. Cara looked down. A luminous blue stone dangled from a chain of golden links draped loosely around her neck. It was the necklace Prentax had put on her almost two weeks ago. She tore the jewelry from her throat and threw it to the ground with disgust. As the necklace skittered across the stone floor, the stone’s light faded and went out.  
  
Rubbing her face as if waking from a deep sleep, Cara let reality wash over her. Although she knew now that what had transpired between her and Kahlan had been an illusion, the false Confessor’s words still rang in her mind. No doubt the fictional Kahlan’s words had been meant only to force her to succumb to the magic of the stone, yet there was enough truth in them to disturb Cara. Before she could dwell too long on those thoughts, the insistent chirping of more than one Night Wisp drew her attention. Lowering her hands, Cara could see the three wisps dancing excitedly around her in the air.   
  
“I see you three are real enough. I suppose I owe you some thanks, so – thanks,” she finished lamely, not knowing what else to say.  
  
The wisps hummed in a delighted fashion. The creatures talked over one another and Cara could barely make out what they were saying, but she was able to determine that Kahlan and Zedd were alive and well, and making their way back to Aydindril. There were also bits about Prentax and the Stones of Surrender that she was able to catch, enough to realize that the wizard from the Old World posed more of a threat than even she had first believed.  
  
“Those two hare-brained fools,” she grumbled, though part of her secretly enjoyed the thought of Kahlan returning for her. She quickly suppressed these thoughts, reminding herself coldly that it was the Mother Confessor’s duty to protect Aydindril. She addressed the wisps as one.  
  
“Do you know how to get me out of here?”  
  
The Night Wisps’ reaction was more subdued this time. Cara frowned.  
  
“No, of course you don’t.” She sighed. “Well, at least I’ll have pleasant company for a change.”


	8. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free of the Stone of Surrender, Cara finally gets her shot to escape, but first she’s got a little something up her sleeve.

By Cara’s best reckoning, she’d seethed alone in her cell for a little over a day, with no one but the Night Wisps for company. She had asked them how they had come to be travelling with Kahlan, and they told her of Caelencia and the Confessor’s travels there. They had explained about the guardian and the Stones of Surrender and the Circle of Hands. They had spoken of Kahlan being chosen as a protector of the magic, and what an honor that was. Cara had snorted her displeasure at this – as far as she was concerned Kahlan should be nowhere near Prentax and his schemes – but even as she had voiced this opinion she knew that the Mother Confessor would never shy away from such an important mission.   
  
After Cara had tried, and failed, to destroy the Stone of Surrender, she had discarded it, banishing it to a dark corner. She had seen guards just twice, and then only for the briefest moments as they shoved food through the door. Of the wizard Prentax there had been no sign. Whenever she thought of the wizard her rage boiled up. Prentax owed her a debt of blood for the torture of the last two weeks, and every minute that she was denied retribution her mood grew fouler.  
  
Something darker and bleaker than her anger had also crept into her mind, barely hidden below her fury. Despite her strong final words to the magical apparition of Kahlan, doubt ate away at her heart. She had tortured Kahlan. The logic of her choice and the fact that it was all an enchanted illusion did little to assuage her conscience. Oh, it was true that she loved Kahlan, and Kahlan her, but what kind of twisted love must dwell in her own heart to make her capable of such a vicious act. She had replayed the days over and over again, searching for something she should have or could have done differently, until her skin crawled. Then she had shoved the thoughts from her mind, until they had slithered back, uninvited, through some hidden weakness in her mental armor. She had refused to share any of the weeks’ events with the wisps. She could not face the shame. Taking her brooding silences as longing for Kahlan, the wisps had offered placating words, but she could find no peace.  
  
By the time she heard heavy thumping outside her cell, Cara was wound tighter than a loaded crossbow. At the sound of muffled impacts, Cara stood swiftly, her back and shoulders rigid with tension, her fists bunched at her sides. She heard a key twisting in the lock. Whoever, whatever came through that door, she was going straight through them. She was tired of waiting. Black anger rolled through her like thunderclouds.  
  
The lock clicked and the door swung inward. Cara sprang forward with a snarl. Her fist came up, starting forward in a sharp jab designed to break a nose or crush a throat. Terrified brown eyes widened as they met her own. Cara flailed, trying to shift her momentum in mid-swing, and tumbled shoulder-first into a very stunned Belle. They both nearly toppled over, but Cara caught herself on the door-frame. The blacksmith stumbled backwards into the corridor, only kept from falling by a petite, curly-haired red-head that propped her up. The Night Wisps came spilling out of the cell, chirruping excitedly.  
  
As Cara straightened herself up, she viewed the two women through narrowed eyes. Covering up her momentary embarrassment with an air of agitated impatience, she barked unceremoniously, “It’s about damn time you got me out of that cell. And who is she?”  
  
The red-head glared at Cara, but Belle grinned at the Mord’Sith. “You’re welcome, by the way. This is Merrilyn Fletcher. She’s a clerk for the Councilor of Galea, and she’s the one who got me the key to your cell, as well as the Weatherwax root that drugged more than half the guards on the way down here. It seems very few of Prentax’s men can avoid the allure of Mistress Sanderholt’s spiced rum cider.”  
  
The woman named Merrilyn, arms across her chest, cast Cara a haughty stare, as if daring the Mord’Sith to speak another unkind word to either Belle or herself. Cara almost laughed at the woman’s audacity – very few of the Councilors would dare challenge Cara directly, let alone any of the common folk in Aydindril. It would have been refreshing, if Cara weren’t so concerned about what lay ahead. They weren’t out of Aydindril yet. She gave the woman a brief nod, acknowledging the clerk’s part in her freedom, before turning back to Belle.  
  
“And what happened to those guards not interested in the cider?”  
  
Belle patted her belt, where her hammer hung in its strap. “They’re sleeping too. Are those Night Wisps?”  
Cara glanced at the hovering wisps and motioned at them with her head. “That’s Mayla, Rhion, and Aster. And don’t ask me which one is which, because I can’t keep them straight.”  
  
“I never thought I’d see one,” said Belle, a note of awe in her voice as she stared open mouthed at the tiny blue-white balls of light. “They’re so…so beautiful. What are they saying?”  
  
“Right now they’re saying thank you for your compliments and–“ Cara stopped abruptly and grimaced. She was not going to convey how the wisps felt about Belle freeing the ‘Hero of the Night Wisps’. She opted for the short version. “- for freeing me. So what’s your plan for getting us out of here?”  
  
Belle forced her attention away from the wisps. “In a few minutes, there should be a diversion that will occupy Prentax and his men. There should be horses waiting for us by the eastern side gate. From there it should be a short ride to the Merchant’s Gate, which hopefully the resistance will have open for us.”  
  
“There are a lot of should’s in that plan, blacksmith. I hope you know what you’re doing. What kind of diversion are we waiting for?” Cara asked warily.  
  
“Oh, just a little surprise I mixed up in the powder shop –“  
  
Suddenly there was a great _whump_ followed by a sound like the roaring of a dozen dragons at once. The walls of the palace shook around them and the floor bucked, causing Cara’s footing to falter for a moment. Merrilyn braced herself on the wall of the corridor, and Belle stumbled slightly. Rock dust and debris rained down on them from the ceiling.  
  
“What in the Keeper’s name was that?!” demanded Cara. Voices rose in shouts of terror and confusion on the floor above the dungeons, the sound filtering down to them despite the thick stone overhead.  
  
A smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, Merrilyn answered, “That was one hundred barrels of Belle’s powder going up in smoke.”  
  
Belle was wide-eyed again, but this time as if she were a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I guess I made a slight miscalculation in how long it would take the fuse to burn.”  
  
Merrilyn’s expression turned grim as she said, ”We need to get out of here. It won’t be long before someone realizes we’re gone.”  
  
Cara plunged back into the cell, returning a moment later with the Stone and its chain tied to her belt.  
  
“Lead the way,” said Cara smirking, motioning with one hand.  
  
Merrilyn took a few steps down the corridor, but Belle rummaged in a satchel slung over her shoulder. She pulled out a leather package and held it out to Cara. “Before we go, I took these out of the jailer’s office. I figured they would be useful.”  
  
Cara threw the wrappings aside. As she felt the familiar pain seep into her fingers she gave a satisfied sniff. She finally had her agiels back. Now all she needed was a wizard to use them on.  
  
***  
  
Between Belle’s diversion and Cara’s knowledge of the palace’s secret passages and hidden corners, the three women moved unhindered. The turmoil in the main courtyard drew Prentax’s men, making it easy to slip past them. Through the occasional window, Cara saw a thick, black column of smoke billowing from the courtyard, the sharp stench of sulfur wafting in on the late morning breeze. The powder still burned and she idly wondered if the other shops in the courtyard had caught fire as well. Prentax and his men would be busy fighting the flames for a while.   
  
The Night Wisps stayed close, almost riding Cara’s shoulders at times. Their voices tinkled in her ear, encouraging her flight and chattering incessantly about reuniting with Kahlan. Cara ground her teeth, biting back a reproach that in truth they did not deserve, her irritation notwithstanding. She’d learned long ago it did not do well to chastise the little creatures – it only ended with hurt feelings and Cara having to waste time soothing the offended wisp.   
  
To Cara’s greater frustration, she realized that attacking Prentax now was not only impractical but would probably get them all killed. As much as she wanted vengeance on the wizard, it was more important that she rejoin Kahlan and Zedd. So instead of finding the yellow-eyed wizard, their small troop hastened along. The blacksmith conveyed as much as she knew of Prentax’s activities in hurried, clipped words, punctuated by the occasional pause to smash an unwitting soldier over the head.  
  
“He does not seem to have a very sophisticated plan,” said Cara, frowning. “I don’t see how he intends to hold all of the Midlands and D’Hara with only a few thousand men. Darken Rahl had the armies of all D’Hara at his command, and still he never achieved full control over the Midlands. Prentax has no more than a few battalions.”  
  
“Yet he took Aydindril nonetheless,” muttered Merrilyn, scowling.  
  
“That is only temporary,” rebuked Cara sharply, throwing the clerk a scathing look.  
  
“I don’t doubt that the Mother Confessor will return victorious. I’m no fool. I just wonder how many more Midlanders will have to die in these pointless struggles for power,” said Merrilyn bluntly, once again refusing to avert her hazel eyes from Cara’s gaze. Cara’s begrudging respect for the woman grew a little more, even as she felt herself bristle at the challenge.  
  
Breaking in between the two women as if she was afraid they would come to blows, Belle quickly pointed out Prentax’s other advantages. “There are the dragons. And the Stones of Surrender.”  
  
Cara reluctantly shifted her attention back to the blacksmith. “We were taken by surprise once, but now we know what we are up against. Even dragons will die if you know where to strike. As for the Stones, I’ll admit they’re a useful bit of magic, but I don’t see them helping Prentax rule a kingdom.”  
  
“From what we can tell, he was counting on being able to use the Stones on the Mother Confessor and Zedd. Prentax’s legitimacy would be almost assured with them at his side. I think he believes he can capture them still, though his men have been after them for two weeks without a sign of either of them. Prentax is skilled and powerful, but he’s prideful too,” Belle said. “He seems to think that between his magic and the dragons, no one can challenge him.”  
  
“Clearly he doesn’t know the Mother Confessor,” responded Cara darkly, “or me.”  
  
A wayward guard rounded the corner at the next intersection and before he could cry out, Cara wrapped an arm around his throat while slamming the tip of an agiel hard into the base of his skull. He dropped soundlessly to the floor, his still form a testament to the cold fury in her words.  
  
“We’re here,” she stated, stepping over the guard’s body without a glance down.  
  
Blinking in the sunlight, Cara surveyed their surroundings. Just as Belle had promised, three horses waited for them, with no signs of guards anywhere. It seemed that most of Prentax’s men had abandoned their posts to fight the fire that was raging in the main courtyard. One horse, a brown gelding, stamped the ground in agitation. Two of the horses, the gelding and a white mare, had saddlebags that bulged from the items within, and blanket rolls strapped behind the saddles. Cara noted with satisfaction the bow and quiver tied across the bedding on the gelding. Clearly Belle and Merrilyn had been preparing very carefully for the journey. The last horse had no supplies, however. Cara glanced questioningly at the blacksmith, raising one eyebrow.  
  
Belle acted as if she had not seen Cara’s look, saying instead, “We’ll take you as far as the Merchant’s Gate.”  
  
This time both of Cara’s eyebrows rose. “You’re not coming?”  
  
“The resistance is just getting started in Aydindril. I can help them,” Belle said firmly.  
  
“Belle, no! That is not part of the plan. I’m supposed to stay, not you. It’s too risky,” protested Merrilyn.  
  
Cara surveyed the blacksmith with a cool eye. “Aydindril will be a very dangerous place for you after today. You would be better off riding with me.”  
  
Belle shook her head vigorously. “I’m staying. The resistance has safe-houses where I can hide. Merry already has arrangements for herself. Besides, you’ll need someone to prepare for the Mother Confessor’s return.”  
  
“You’ll probably get yourself killed. Come with me. I won’t offer again,” said Cara, but she could tell by the set in the blacksmith’s square jaw that it was a pointless battle.  
  
“I have my reasons,” said Belle stubbornly.  
  
Merrilyn’s face turned a deep shade of scarlet and her eyes blazed. “You mutton-headed daughter of a donkey! What in the Keeper’s name do you think-“  
  
Belle caught the clerk’s small hand in her own, nearly covering it completely with stout fingers. The blacksmith stared deeply into Merrilyn’s eyes as she said gently, “Merry, I have my reasons.”  
  
The redhead gaped at Belle, her tirade all but forgotten. Cara rolled her eyes.  
  
“The Spirits save us from new lovers,” she muttered to herself, though the words were half-hearted at best. Even when focused on the task at hand, a certain dark-haired Confessor was never far from her thoughts. She coughed loudly to cover her own discomfort. “If we have any hope of getting me out of the city in the next century, I suggest we leave now.”  
  
They mounted quickly and Cara circled her horse around to face the route to the Merchant’s Gate. The Night Wisps burrowed their way under Cara’s hair, taking refuge inside her collar. She shrugged uncomfortably at the ticklish sensation of tiny wings fluttering against her neck. Then she snapped the reins sharply and the gelding surged forward. Soon, her only thought was avoiding detection by Prentax’s mounted squads throughout the city. The three of them took a circuitous route through the city, sticking to narrow alleyways and little used backstreets. With growing unease, Cara realized that they saw no one as they rode. Aydindril seemed abandoned. Normally at this time of day, even the less travelled roads would have at least some sign of life – a housewife emptying out a chamberpot, a peddler hawking his wares – not this eerie desertion.  
  
Belle must have noticed Cara’s eyes darting around more than usual, for the blacksmith called out to Cara just loud enough to be heard, “It’s the curfew. The citizen’s are only allowed out on certain market days. Otherwise they’ve been ordered to stay inside until Prentax has time to issue new edicts. Anyone caught out can be whipped for disobeying.”  
  
Anger flared in Cara’s gut, and she knew the Mother Confessor would be even less pleased by the treatment of her people. Cara urged her horse to move even faster. It felt as if she could not get to the Lady Rahl soon enough.  
  
Even with their winding path, the women soon arrived at the Merchant’s Gate, which the resistance temporarily held. Cara slowed her horse to a walk as they passed through the gate. Four of Prentax’s guards and two of the Aydindril fighters had been slain in order to purchase her this passage. Cara recognized a few of the faces in the crowd of men as Home Guard and they saluted smartly when her eyes passed over them. She gave them a sharp nod. Satisfaction helped abate a bit of her anger, as she realized how many of Aydindril’s protectors still remained alive and loyal.  
  
Once they passed under the gate’s portcullis, Cara drew the gelding to a halt. Belle and Merrilyn stopped beside her. A thought had just occurred to Cara.  
  
“Where are the dragons being kept?” asked Cara.  
  
Merrilyn responded, “They’re being kept about a league southeast of the city, near the river. They were too big to keep anywhere else. Prentax’s men feed them twice a day, using cattle they’ve stolen from the farmers.”  
  
“And they let Prentax’s men that close without cooking their hides?” Cara was still incredulous that any dragon would suffer such an indignity, let alone six.  
  
“It’s the Stones of Surrender,” replied the clerk.  
  
“How many of the blasted things are there?” growled Cara. She absent-mindedly stroked the one that she had retrieved from her cell, the one that now hung from her belt.  
  
“Too many, if you ask me, but as to the actual number, I don’t know.” The redhead sighed and shook her head.  
  
A plan took shape in Cara’s mind. She would find Kahlan soon enough, but first she would see if she could strip Prentax of one of his advantages. A grim smile spread across her face.  
  
“You two should get back inside. Prentax will send more guards soon and the rest of you should be gone when he does. Where can I find you when Kahlan, Zedd, and I return?”  
  
“The resistance has been using the Honking Goose for a meeting place. Best start there,” replied Belle. The blacksmith opened her mouth as if she would say more, but Cara cut her off.  
  
“Stay alive, blacksmith. You too, Merrilyn. The Mother Confessor will need people loyal to her when she returns, “ she paused, then added, “…and I would find it unfortunate if something happened to you.”   
  
Cara’s eyes were already fixed on the horizon as if she could see her target from where they stood. Without a glance to either of her companions, she nudged her horse forward and he broke into quick trot that soon became a canter. As the distance between her and the city walls grew, Cara soaked in the freedom. For far too long she had been at the whim of Prentax and his magic. Now, the feeling of power finally began to surge through her again, and she relished the sensation. She was alive, she was free, and she had a plan.  
  
***  
  
Hidden in the speckled shadows of a thick burrberry bush, Cara silently drew an arrow from the quiver on her back and nocked her bow. She could see her quarry through the limbs of the bush, six enormous, hulking red forms, each with a thick collar around its neck. The dragons were scattered haphazardly around a large clearing, some lying on their bellies with their tails wrapped around them, others sitting on their back haunches. One sniffed the air lazily, thin wisps of smoke rising from its nostrils. From each collar, a single chain as big around as her waist ran to a nearby tree. The chains did not concern her, however, nor did the collars themselves. It was the blue stones, so tiny in their setting against the cold mass of the collars, that captured her interest. When she had seen the dragons in the air during the battle she had not been able to see the stones, but now she could make out the blue glow emanating from each collar.   
  
Hoping that she had left her horse far enough away not to be noticed, but close enough to escape easily, the Mord’Sith took a deep breath as she drew the bowstring back. A deep calm filled her as her attention narrowed until there was nothing but the target. She let out half a breath. Then she loosed her arrow.  
The arrow flew to its mark. With a tiny pop, the stone on the collar of the furthest dragon broke loose from its setting and fell sparkling to the ground. At first nothing seemed to happen. None of the dragons even seemed to notice that an arrow had just passed through the air in front of them. Then a thunderclap rent the air. The dragon shook its head as if waking from a deep sleep and bellowed at the sky. Its roar agitated its neighbor, which snapped its jaws in irritation. The dragon roared again and began to yank on the chain binding it to a tree. Its wicked, steel-hard claws dug at the links, leaving deep gouges in their wake. The chain would not hold long. Cara smiled as she nocked another arrow.  
  
Another stone, and then a third were knocked from the collars of two more dragons. Two thunderclaps, one right after the other, rang out. The concussive sound nearly deafened Cara. Soon the clearing echoed with the fierce roars and snarls of dragons writhing against their bonds and lashing out at each other. The first dragon had ripped through its chain and was furiously scrabbling at the collar around its neck. The second freed dragon viciously attacked its neighbor, which retaliated with equally stunning force. The ground trembled as the massive bodies slammed into the ground. The other dragons bellowed in confusion and anger as the two wrestling dragons tore huge clods of earth from the clearing floor and flung them carelessly about.  
  
Cara reached for another arrow, but her hand stopped midway to the quiver. The last dragon that had been freed from its stone was not roaring like the others. It was not trying to bite or claw its way through its chain or collar. It was staring at her, and its yellow eyes were filled with a deep, unrelenting hatred. The dragon’s lips curled back in a silent snarl, baring fangs that were as long as her arm. Heavy jaws opened and Cara heard the rumbling intake of breath that could only mean that fiery death was sure to follow. She began to back out of the bush as fast as she could, unable to peel her eyes from the dragon. The tangled branches of the burrberry bush resisted her efforts to scramble backwards. Part of her knew that it was already too late. She frowned. She felt no fear, only a sense of disappointment for failing to return to Kahlan.   
  
Suddenly, as the dragon was about to exhale, another dragon snatched it by the snout and drove its head into the ground. Both dragons sounded their fury as claws and teeth scraped along tough, scaly hides. Enormous red bodies collided and tumbled. Cara had just enough time to see that it was the unchained dragon, now collarless as well, that had come to her timely rescue. Then, nearly falling out the backside of the bush, she staggered to her feet and ran without looking back.  
  
***  
  
The gelding’s hooves pounded over the sodden earth, churning up the grass and dirt beneath them. Though the day was bright and the sky a vibrant blue, the signs that it had rained heavily not too long ago were all around Cara. She wondered what else she had missed while trapped in her windowless cell. She rode hard, still trying to put more leagues between her and the dragon’s clearing. Her horse was young and strong, but she knew he could not sustain this pace much longer if she expected to ride him the rest of the day. Yet she pushed him. _Just a little further_.  
  
With the wind whipping past her ears, the Mord’Sith never heard the low whoosh of wings overhead. It wasn’t until the dark shadow passed over her that she was aware that anything was wrong at all. Her heart pounding a little faster, she looked up to see a black, winged silhouette blot out the sun overhead. The gelding let out a high pitched whinny and galloped faster, as if he could outrun the dragon. His eyes rolled in fear, whites showing. Then the dragon glided past them. Cara watched with unease as the giant creature banked and descended quickly, landing only fifty paces from her. As its four great feet touched the ground, it folded its wing behind its back, leathery membranes sliding with a swish over scaly hide.  
  
The horse reared up underneath her, nearly dumping her from the saddle, but Cara hung on with determination and no small amount of luck. In her struggle to remain seated she nearly forgot the dragon, who seemed to be standing idly by, watching her. With reins and words, Cara brought the gelding back under control. There was a line of trees to the west. Though she doubted she could make it before the dragon was on her, it was her best chance. She twitched the reins, and the horse pivoted, changing directions.  
  
“STOP!”  
  
The shock of the dragon speaking to her was enough to bring Cara and her horse to an abrupt halt.  
  
“TURN AROUND SO I CAN SEE YOU,” commanded the dragon, its voice booming.  
  
Cara was speechless. Did the dragon want to see its prey before it ate her? Somehow Cara doubted it, but she had no idea what to make of the request. She reasoned that it would probably not do her much good to argue though. She swung the horse around so that they were both facing the dragon again.  
  
“YOU ARE PUNY. I THOUGHT YOU LOOKED BIGGER IN THE BUSHES.” The dragon, if it was possible, sounded disappointed.  
  
“You don’t need to be very big to shoot an arrow,” replied Cara caustically. The words were out of her mouth before she caught herself. She held her breath as the dragon lowered its bulky head to gain a better view of Cara.  
  
“THAT IS SO.” The dragon nodded ever so slightly, conceding Cara’s point. “WHAT IS YOUR NAME, HUMAN?”  
  
“Cara Mason,” responded the Mord’Sith. “And what is yours, assuming dragons even have names?”  
  
“OH, WE HAVE MANY NAMES, CARA MASON, BUT FEW YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND. SOME YOU WOULD NOT ENJOY. HOWEVER, YOU MAY CALL ME SCARLET.” Cara got the distinct impression that the dragon believed she was bestowing a great honor on Cara by sharing her name.  
  
For a long moment, the dragon and the Mord’Sith stared at each other. Cara was baffled by the dragon’s odd behavior. Why wasn’t it doing anything? Or saying something? The moment stretched, Cara’s agitation increasing. Even the Night Wisps, still hidden in her collar, were silent. Finally, Cara’s patience broke.  
  
“Am I free to be on my way, or do you need something from me?” she asked.  
  
Scarlet cocked her head to one side and continued staring at Cara. It reminded Cara of a dog – a giant, hungry, predatory dog.  
  
“What are you staring at?” demanded Cara in exasperation.  
  
“I’M TRYING TO DECIDE WHETHER I SHOULD HELP YOU OR EAT YOU,” rumbled the dragon.  
  
“Well, one way or the other, I do wish you’d make up your mind. I’ve got somewhere to be,” the Mord’Sith drawled. While she sincerely hoped that Scarlet did not eat her, Cara was convinced that her input mattered very little in the decision.  
  
A sound like a hiccupping growl emanated from Scarlet’s throat, and as it continued for a minute, Cara realized the dragon was laughing at her. Cara waited in stony silence. A short while later the odd growl ceased, and the dragon leaned all the way down until her eyes were nearly level with Cara’s. Cara could feel the dragon’s hot breath blowing around her. Her horse whickered and tried to shy away. Cara held him steady, matching the dragon’s fierce stare.  
  
“I THINK I MIGHT LIKE YOU, HUMAN. YOU DID FREE ME FROM THAT VILE STONE AND YOU GAVE ME A CHANCE FOR VENGEANCE ON THORN. PERHAPS I WILL HELP YOU.”  
  
“Thorn?” Cara was perplexed.  
  
“THE MONSTER WHO DARED CALL HIMSELF DRAGON.”  
  
“The one that nearly char-broiled me?”  
  
“THE SAME. THAT WRETCHED LIZARD TRIED TO TAKE MY TERRITORY SEVERAL YEARS AGO. I DEFENDED IT, BUT NOT WELL ENOUGH. BEFORE I FORCED HIM TO LEAVE, HE KILLED MY FLEDGLING SON. I WOULD HAVE KILLED HIM, BUT MY WING WAS WOUNDED AND I COULD NOT FLY. WE DRAGONS MAY LIVE A LONG TIME, BUT WE DO NOT LAY MANY EGGS. OUR YOUNG ARE SACRED, BUT THORN DID NOT RESPECT THAT. HE RESPECTED NOTHING. NOW HE WILL NEVER HARM ANOTHER FLEDGLING AGAIN.”  
  
Cara viewed the dragon with a new light. Upon closer inspection, she could see the scars running across Scarlet’s snout and neck. The tip of one ear was torn and her left wing hung a little lower on her back, as if her injury still bothered her. Yet the dragon exuded power. Thick, ropy muscles, longer than a man, bulged in her legs, shoulders and haunches. Her yellow eyes were clear and sharp, and her teeth glinted, intact and unbroken, in the sunlight. Wickedly pointed spikes fringed the back of the dragon’s head and jaw. The Mord’Sith almost pitied any dragon foolish enough to challenge Scarlet.  
  
“I AM VERY HAPPY TO HAVE KILLED THORN, BUT I AM ALSO VERY HUNGRY AFTER MY BATTLE WITH HIM. EATING YOU MIGHT NOT BE SUCH A BAD CHOICE AFTER ALL.”  
  
Without warning, the Night Wisps sheltering in Cara’s clothes exploded from their hiding place. Before she could stop even one, they raced straight for Scarlet. The dragon yanked her head back in surprise, as the wisps swirled like mad hornets around her head. With her neck drawn up to its full length, the dragon was so tall it was hard to hear what the wisps were saying, but it sounded like the diminutive creatures were scolding Scarlet. Even more incredible, the dragon seemed to shrink under their onslaught. Then, the wisps ceased as suddenly as they had begun, and they floated gently back down to hover around Cara. Scarlet eyed her even more intently than before, but the nature of the look had changed. Though it was hard to discern emotions on the reptilian face, the dragon wore an expression that bore a close resemblance to curiosity.  
  
“I DID NOT REALIZE THAT YOU WERE A SISTER TO THE NIGHT WISPS. FOR THAT I WILL NOT EAT YOU. THEY ALSO TELL ME THAT YOU ARE THE MATE OF A PROTECTOR AND THAT SHE IS MEANT TO DESTROY THE ONE WHO IMPRISONED ME. FOR THAT I WILL HELP YOU.”  
  
Scarlet settled herself onto her belly and extended a wing in Cara’s direction.  
  
“WE SHOULD GO. THERE IS LITTLE TIME TO LOSE.”  
  
Cara gaped at the dragon. “You don’t seriously mean that I should ride you?”  
  
“IT IS NOT WHAT I WOULD PREFER, EITHER. I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF MEN ON MY BACK TO LAST A HUNDRED LIFETIMES. BUT I CAN TRAVEL MUCH FASTER THAN THAT PONY OF YOURS. NOW BE SWIFT, BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND.”  
  
Cara was flabbergasted, but she scrambled from her horse nonetheless. This was not how she had anticipated finding Kahlan. She unlaced the saddlebags and blanket roll and slung her quiver and bow over her shoulder. Making sure she had everything she needed first, she undid the gelding’s saddle and pulled off his bridle. No reason to burden the poor fellow if he was going to be left behind.  
  
“MAY I EAT THE HORSE?” asked Scarlet hopefully.  
  
“No!” rebuked Cara sourly.  
  
The dragon grumbled, smoke pouring from her nostrils. Cara gave the horse a hard smack on the rump. He needed no further encouragement and raced for the tree-line. Scarlet’s eyes followed the horse until he disappeared into the forest, her face seeming almost forlorn. Picking up her things, Cara climbed the leathery expanse of the dragon’s wing and took an uneasy seat between the beast’s shoulder blades. The scales were slick and she could find no purchase. She fervently hoped that Scarlet would remember that on their flight.  
  
“TRY NOT TO FALL OFF, CARA MASON.”   
  
Without waiting for a reply, Scarlet launched herself into the sky with one smooth push from her powerful hind legs. The dragon’s wings caught an updraft and soon they were soaring high over the Midlands. Behind Cara, Aydindril appeared in the distance, as if a child’s toy model, and the Kern River was no more than a trickle beneath her boot. Farm animals and the people who tended them looked as tiny as ants.   
Despite her initial misgivings, Cara was caught up in the exhilaration as the wind raced through her hair and the leagues below fell away. Never in her life had she dreamed of such a thing – to fly like a bird, to almost touch the clouds. Her heart swelled in her chest with an exuberance that she had not felt in years. For just a moment it didn’t matter that her lover was leagues away and possibly in serious danger, that Aydindril was held captive, that the last two weeks had convinced her that she was still as broken as she ever had been. For just the briefest of instances, those worries melted away and the thrill and splendor of what lay below her and all around her made her blood sing. She grinned, despite herself.  
  
The dragon cast Cara a glance. “DO NOT GET TOO COMFORTABLE, HUMAN. I MAY STILL DECIDE TO EAT YOU ONCE THIS IS ALL OVER.”  
  
Cara could do nothing but laugh at this. Right now she was enjoying herself too much. The Mord’Sith noticed that the Night Wisps had taken places up near Scarlet’s head. She presumed that they were guiding the dragon to Kahlan, but with the air rushing past she could hear nothing but her own heartbeat and the dragon’s booming voice. The beast’s ears twitched and Scarlet gave a hard shake of her head, as if to dislodge the luminous creatures.  
  
“WE DRAGONS HONOR ALL THOSE WHO SERVE THE GUARDIAN, BUT DO THESE NIGHT WISPS NEVER CEASE TALKING? I HAVE YET TO MEET SUCH ANNOYING CREATURES AS THESE.”  
  
Cara’s grin widened. “You have no idea.”


	9. The Road Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kahlan and Cara are finally reunited, but the reunion may not be as happy as it should be.

The sun had slipped below the tree-line well before Kahlan and Zedd halted their journey for the day. The rain had blessedly ceased the morning after they had taken shelter in the woodsman’s hut. Zedd’s cough had slackened, and for the last two days they had pushed forward, trying to make up for lost time. Stella reassured Kahlan that they would make Aydindril in four days at their current pace. Kahlan hoped the weather would hold that long. They couldn’t afford another setback.  
  
Zedd set about making a fire, while Kahlan untied the dead rabbit from her belt. While the hours had dragged in their cramped shelter while they were waiting for the rain to stop, she’d had time to produce a makeshift sling. Today she finally got the opportunity to use it. The meat would be a welcome addition to their meager diet. She drew one of her daggers, preparing to skin her kill.  
  
Suddenly, the Night Wisps rose into the air in a frenzied whirlwind. Before Kahlan could ask what had excited them so, three more wisps zipped into their campsite, joining the rest in a jubilant reunion. Kahlan hurried forward, the rabbit forgotten on a log. By the way the Night Wisps behaved, these three must be the ones that Stella had sent to Cara. Their return meant only one thing – they’d found her. Kahlan’s heart was in her throat. She desperately wanted news of her lover, yet feared what she would be told. When she tried to speak, to ask her questions, she found her voice failed her.  
  
Zedd rescued her. “Slow down, slow down! What news do you have for us, little ones?”  
  
The creatures all tried speaking at once, but Stella shushed them and she flew forward to hover in front of Kahlan. The wisp chirped and chittered. Kahlan frowned.  
  
“I don’t understand, what do you mean that you want me to follow you? What about Cara?”  
  
Stella bounced and zipped, agitated and chirruping loudly. Kahlan was perplexed by the wisp’s odd refusal to answer her questions, and even more baffled by Stella’s frenetic energy.  
  
“All right, settle down! We’re coming.”  
  
Kahlan cast Zedd a confused glance, and met with one of his own. He shrugged and trudged after the wisps, who were already drifting away from them at a quick pace. Kahlan hurried to catch up and together, she and the wizard struggled through the twilit gloom, following the animated creatures. After a short minute, the canopy overhead broke and Kahlan found herself in a large meadow. The wisps abruptly stopped and for once, they fell silent. Kahlan scanned the clearing, but she saw nothing at first.  
  
Then Kahlan’s eyes picked out the shadowy hulk no more than a hundred paces from her and Zedd. _No, it couldn’t be._ Kahlan froze, like the deer that has just scented a pack of wolves. Her whole body quivered as the outline of a massive head, body, and tail became clear in her vision. She wondered if the dragon had noticed them yet. If it had there was little they could do about it now.  
  
“Zedd,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.  
  
“I know,” he replied, his gravelly voice also hushed. Kahlan heard the swish of Zedd’s sleeves in the dark and imagined that he was raising his hands in preparation.  
  
“I WOULD NOT TRY IT, WIZARD. I HAVE NO INTEREST IN HARMING YOU. YOU WOULD NOT BE ALIVE NOW IF I DID. STILL, IT WOULD BE UNFORTUNATE FOR YOU IF YOU WERE TO TRY TO CAST A SPELL ON ME.” The dragon’s voice filled the meadow with its commanding presence.  
  
If Kahlan was shocked by the dragon’s pronouncement, she could scarcely believe her ears at the response that came from somewhere around the creature’s knees.  
  
“Play nice, Scarlet,” came an unmistakable growl.  
  
“Cara!” Kahlan gave an involuntary shout. Before she knew what she was doing, her legs propelled her into the open. It was as if the dragon had completely disappeared. Only that voice mattered.  
  
Straining to make out the form of her lover, Kahlan stumbled forward blindly in the direction from which Cara had spoken. Halfway to the dragon, Cara emerged into her view. The Mord’Sith strode purposefully toward her. Kahlan caught the glitter of Cara’s green eyes. The intensity she saw there scorched her soul. As Cara carelessly dropped the saddlebags that she was carrying, Kahlan flung herself forward with a small cry. Cara caught Kahlan in mid-stride. The Confessor felt the Mord’Sith’s strong arms wrap tightly around her, as if they had no intention of letting her go. Winding her arms around Cara’s shoulders, Kahlan buried her face into the loose strands of hair at Cara’s neck. She let the familiar smells of leather and sweat wash over her. For a moment, nothing existed outside the woman embracing her now. Then Kahlan caught a faint whiff of old blood.  
  
Reluctantly, the Confessor leaned back, examining Cara in the gathering dark, searching for any sign of injury. She could barely see the frayed edges of a hole in the shoulder of Cara’s leathers. When she reached for it, Cara gently caught her hand.  
  
“I’m fine, Kahlan,” said Cara, but instead of her usual dismissive tone, her voice was equally as gentle and reassuring as her hand. “I took a crossbow bolt to the shoulder, but it wasn’t deep and it’s been treated by healers.”  
  
Unexpected tears burned in Kahlan’s eyes. She hadn’t even realized how much energy she’d been using just to keep her fears at bay, but now that those worries were allayed, the relief was overwhelming. She grabbed Cara’s collar and pulled her into a desperate kiss. The Mord’Sith’s full lips moved under hers, responsive and yielding, but Kahlan could feel a strange rigidity in Cara’s body, as if she were suddenly hesitant around Kahlan. Cara’s reaction puzzled the Confessor. She hadn’t felt that kind of resistance in Cara since the early beginnings of their courtship. Before she could wonder aloud on the Mord’Sith’s stiffness, though, the dragon reminded Kahlan of her presence.  
  
“IF YOU TWO ARE DONE WITH YOUR SENTIMENTAL DISPLAY, I WOULD PAY MY RESPECTS TO THE PROTECTOR BEFORE I LEAVE.”  
  
“Leave? I thought you were here to help us,” responded Cara sharply.  
  
“I AM, HUMAN…DESPITE YOUR IMPERTINENCE. I AM HUNGRY, AS I HAVE TOLD YOU SEVERAL TIMES. I MUST HUNT. I WILL BE BACK IN THE MORNING. THEN I WILL TAKE THE PROTECTOR TO FACE PRENTAX.”  
  
Kahlan found her voice as she took a step away from Cara. She straightened her back and peered up toward the large head that gazed down at her. “Thank you for bringing Cara to me, to us. I am in your debt.”  
  
“I HAVE NO USE FOR YOUR GRATITUDE, PROTECTOR. I AM HERE BECAUSE THE GUARDIAN HAS SENT YOU TO DEFEAT THE MISERABLE WORM THAT DECEIVED ME WITH HIS MAGIC. THAT IS ENOUGH. I WILL CARRY YOU TO AYDINDRIL, AND I WILL FREE THE REST OF MY KIND. THEN WE SHALL BE EVEN.”  
  
“Nonetheless, I thank you,” replied Kahlan firmly. “It may mean nothing to you, but it is everything to me. May the Creator’s peace fill your days.”  
  
A strange gurgling erupted from Scarlet, and it took a minute before Kahlan realized that it was the beast’s stomach that growled so persistently. The dragon released a sigh that sounded like a giant, wheezing bellows.  
  
“AS YOU SAY, MOTHER CONFESSOR. HOWEVER, I FEAR THERE WILL BE NO PEACE UNTIL MY BELLY IS FULL. UNTIL TOMORROW THEN.”  
  
Without another word, Scarlet stretched her giant wings and leapt upward. Kahlan watched in wonder as the dragon, framed by the emerging stars, shrank and dwindled in the night sky.  
  
“I just hope she stays away from the cows we passed a few leagues back,” grumbled Cara.  
  
An eyebrow raised in question, Kahlan swung back around to face her lover. “I see you’ve been making friends while I’ve been gone.”  
  
“If you call being threatened with being eaten once every hour friendly, then yes, I’ve made a friend,” replied Cara, a smirk crossing her lips.  
  
“Well, she seems to have gotten you here in one piece, so I wouldn’t complain too much,” called Zedd as he made his way out to them, trailed by the Night Wisps.  
  
Cara and the wizard stared at each other, each suddenly awkward in the presence of the other. Kahlan worried her lower lip as her gaze passed back and forth between them. Zedd looked slightly embarrassed and Cara’s expression was almost unreadable. Finally Zedd spoke.  
  
“It’s good to see you, Cara,” he said, his voice a little rough.  
  
Cara seemed startled at this. After a long moment of deliberation she replied, “It’s good to see you too, wizard.”  
  
“I don’t suppose that there is any food in those packs?” asked Zedd hopefully, tilting his head in the direction of Cara’s discarded saddlebags.  
  
Cara smirked again. “There just might be. Let’s find somewhere to camp for the night and I’ll see what Belle and Merrilyn packed for us.”  
  
“We’ve got a camp set up already,” replied Kahlan.  
  
The Confessor led Cara back to the small camp, followed closely by Zedd and the Night Wisps. Kahlan gripped Cara’s hand in her own, needing the reassurance that the Mord’Sith was real. Cara returned the pressure, but she remained oddly silent. Kahlan furtively studied Cara out of the corner of her eye, but Cara’s impassive features told Kahlan nothing. Distance shrouded Cara’s eyes, and more than once Kahlan almost asked Cara where her thoughts were. Something foreboding in the Mord’Sith’s posture forestalled her. There would be time later.  
  
Zedd’s fire burned cheerfully in its ring of stones and the rabbit lay where Kahlan had discarded it. The Confessor quickly retrieved it and set about preparing it for roasting. She kept half an eye on Cara, who rummaged in the saddlebags, efficiently sorting through the supplies that Belle and the clerk Merrilyn had procured for her. While Zedd sliced mushrooms into a small pot that Cara had handed him, he conversed quietly with the wisps, their voices too low for Kahlan to hear.   
  
In less than half a candlemark, the three of them had whipped together a meal deserving of the name. They settled around the fire, Zedd across from Kahlan, and Cara nearer to Kahlan than Zedd, though farther away than Kahlan would have liked. Zedd fell upon the food with a zeal that surpassed his usual excitement, and Cara methodically packed away mouthful after mouthful. Even Kahlan’s growing concern over Cara’s continued silence was momentarily forgotten as she wolfed down succulent rabbit, hard cheese, mushroom stew, and a slice of Mistress Sanderholt’s nut bread.  
  
“Oh Spirits, that was divine,” groaned Zedd as he leaned back against a log in contentment. His baggy robes did little to hide the bulge of his full stomach.  
  
“You have not been eating enough,” Cara stated quietly, her words encompassing both the wizard and the Confessor, but her green eyes fixed solely on Kahlan. “You are too thin.”  
  
Kahlan shrugged and smiled, glad that the Mord’Sith had spoken at all. “We’ve done alright. We left Aydindril with no supplies, and with Prentax’s men looking for us we had no chance of getting them. It’s been a little more difficult than usual, but we’ve all been on the road before. Zedd and I managed.” Kahlan chuckled softly. “I can’t say that I’ll miss burdock roots, though.”  
  
Cara’s eyes slid down Kahlan’s body, coming to rest on her left wrist. The silver badger glinted in the firelight. Kahlan lightly traced the metal spine of the creature with the fingers of her other hand.  
  
“I suppose the Night Wisps told you about our detour?”  
  
Cara nodded, but her eyes darkened. “I still don’t see why it has to be you that faces Prentax, just because some fancy, glowing deer gave you a bracelet. It’s too much of a risk. Let me do it.”  
  
“Cara, I don’t think it works like that. The task was given to me for a reason, and it’s my city we’re talking about. Besides, I’m not sure I could take this thing off, even if I tried.”  
  
The Mord’Sith huffed her disapproval. “What does that thing do, anyway?”  
  
“The Guardian said that I would know when the time came.”  
  
“And you believed it? Why?” Cara’s eyebrows arched in consternation.  
  
“Her. I believed her. I can’t describe what the Guardian was like, but I’m telling you, if you were there, you’d believe her, too. The magic was almost overwhelming. I’ve never, ever been around that kind of power before, and you know the kinds of magic we’ve faced,” said Kahlan earnestly. Cara still looked skeptical, but Kahlan suspected it had less to do with Cara doubting her words, and more to do with the Mord’Sith’s wariness over putting Kahlan in danger.  
  
Studying the fire, Cara descended into brooding silence once again. Kahlan stared at her. They had been separated for over two weeks, each facing numerous perils, and all Cara could do was sit there. Kahlan had to fight the urge to kiss the Mord’Sith, to shake her, to curse at her – anything to produce a reaction other than stony silence. She felt Zedd’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at anything but Cara. Just when she thought she could contain herself no longer, Cara spoke.  
  
“The Night Wisps told me that the reason Prentax is so dangerous is the Stones of Surrender. But without all the Stones, he can’t form the Circle of Hands, right?” Her tone was flat, and her eyes never left the fire.  
  
“That is what the Guardian said,” agreed Kahlan.  
  
“Then, the worst of the danger is past,” said Cara, pulling something from her belt and holding it up. Dangling from its chain, the faint blue stone caught the firelight. It seemed to glow.  
  
Kahlan’s eyes went wide, her mouth slightly opened in surprise. She reached for the stone, and Cara relinquished her hold on the chain. Kahlan examined it, turning it over in her hand. Such a little thing to cause so much trouble.  
  
“Hand it here, so I can get a better look at it,” said Zedd. Kahlan placed the stone in his outstretched palm. He closed his eyes, and waved his other hand over the stone, muttering as he did so. This time, the stone truly lit up from within. “Ah yes, tricky magic indeed. More subtle than confession, but more insidious, too.”  
  
The wizard’s eyes popped open. “But, Cara, how did you come by this?”  
  
Cara’s mouth pressed into a thin, angry line. Her next words came through gritted teeth. “Prentax tried to use it on me.”  
  
Kahlan watched Cara reach for an agiel. The creak of her gloves on the hilt and the hum of the weapon were barely audible. The Confessor wanted to tear Cara’s hand from the agiel, but she knew such an action would only further infuriate Cara.  
  
“But your Mord’Sith magic, it repelled the magic of the Stone?” persisted Zedd.  
  
“No,” answered Cara laconically.  
  
“Then how-“ started the wizard.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” snapped Cara, her eyes catching the flames as she glared at him. “I took it from him and now he can’t complete the Circle. That’s all that matters.”  
  
Storms brewed in Zedd’s eyes as he opened his mouth to respond, but Kahlan cut him off with a soft plea. “Cara, I know you don’t want to discuss whatever happened, but it might be important. We’re out of immediate danger, but we still have to destroy the Heart Stone. Until we know where Prentax is keeping it, these other Stones will retain their full power. Anything you can tell us about them might help Zedd counteract their magic.”  
  
Cara’s glare turned on Kahlan, but the Confessor saw a hint of hurt behind the anger. Kahlan did not look away. Though she would do almost anything to spare her lover pain, it was vital that they understood as much as they could about the Stones.  
  
“Cara-“  
  
“Fine! I’ll tell you.” Cara crossed her arms over her chest angrily. Something akin to panic flashed across her eyes before they went flat, so quickly that Kahlan almost wondered if she had seen it. The Mord’Sith tilted her head and threw back her shoulders, steeling herself. Then she began.  
  
The words came haltingly at first. Cara told of her capture and of her encounter with Prentax. She spoke of the illusion that the Stone had created for her, how she’d been trapped in it for almost a fortnight. With each passing minute, the Mord’Sith’s body became more rigid with fury, her features taut. As Cara described the details of what had happened between the fake Confessor and herself, the Mord’Sith’s voice rose with barely suppressed hatred, though whether at herself or Prentax, Kahlan could not tell. Cara reached for her agiel again as she explained how the Night Wisps had arrived just in time. With sudden clarity, Kahlan understood Cara’s strange distance. The Mord’Sith blamed herself for the Stone’s illusion. _Oh, Cara, no._ Kahlan forced herself to stay still, letting Cara finish her tale.  
  
When Cara’s voice faded away, it was Zedd who spoke first, his face grave. “Cara, you were not responsible for what transpired while you wore this Stone. You were given an impossible decision, and either choice was meant to break you down until, out of despair, you gave in to the Stone’s magic. The fact that you are here now means that you did not succumb. You should be proud.”  
  
“You mock me, wizard,” Cara growled, refusing to meet his gaze.  
  
“There was a time when I might have, child, but not tonight,” he said tenderly. Her eyes flew up to his face, as if searching for something. Kahlan held her breath as she watched the wordless exchange.   
  
Apparently, Cara was satisfied with whatever she found, because she turned to Kahlan.  
  
“So what’s your plan?” Not exactly the heart-felt words that Kahlan desired, but at least Cara’s anger seemed to be receding. The Mord’Sith’s shoulders relaxed a little, and her hand released the agiel.  
  
“Funny you should ask,” replied Kahlan, a sheepish smile spreading across her face. “We don’t exactly have one.”  
  
“You’re telling me you’re about to attempt a two-man assault on Aydindril, and you have you no idea what you’re going to do when you get there?” Cara snorted. “You two would be gar food if it wasn’t for me.”

Kahlan’s smile broadened. Cara was definitely feeling better.  
  
For half the night they discussed their options, considering all the angles. Cara filled them in on the resistance and Prentax’s loss of three of his dragons. The pride in Cara’s voice was genuine when she told that particular tale. In the end, they all agreed that stealth was their best option. They needed more information before striking at Prentax. They would sneak into the city and meet with Belle and the resistance at the Honking Goose.  
  
“I only hope the dragon will accept our plan,” said Cara. “If Scarlet strikes before we’re ready, it could be a disaster.”  
  
“Perhaps a request from the ‘protector’ will be enough to convince her,” replied Kahlan.  
  
“Perhaps,” agreed Cara.   
  
“What about the bond?” asked Kahlan. “Many of Prentax’s men are D’Haran soldiers. Maybe I can use the bond to our advantage.”  
  
“Kahlan, I don’t think that is a wise idea. You’ve had little practice manipulating the bond,” said Zedd.  
  
“Little?! Try none,” growled Cara. Catching Kahlan’s narrowed eyes, Cara softened her tone. “You know it’s true, Kahlan. You haven’t taken the daily devotions in months and the bond is weak. Besides, the bond not only lets D’Harans know you’re alive, but it can also tell them where you are. If you try using the bond now, you might as well send up one of Zedd’s magical signal fires to announce your presence. And once they found you, you wouldn’t be able to exert the kind of control needed to bend the rebels to your will.”  
  
Sighing, Kahlan conceded Cara’s point. She had never been comfortable with the bond. The Midlands were governed by the rule of law, and she had presided over D’Hara in much the same way after taking up the mantle of Lady Rahl. She had treated the bond as a mere formality. Now, she wished she had paid more attention to Cara’s suggestions that she learn to use the bond effectively. _Ah, well. Too late to cry over cracked eggs._  
  
“Well, I don’t know about you two, but this old man needs his rest. That is unless you want to carry me into Aydindril,” stated Zedd. He stood and stretched his long arms over his head, his mouth wide in a deep yawn. Kahlan winced at the cracks and pops issuing from the wizard’s joints.  
  
“Zedd, I think you should take the bedroll,” offered Kahlan.  
  
“Why, thank you, dear one.” He gave her a broad smile. “My back thanks you, too.”  
  
The wizard ambled off into the bushes for his nightly routine. Cara stood and began adding wood to the fire. Kahlan studied her lover’s body as she moved around the circle of stones. The tension had returned to Cara’s motions, as if she might bolt at any moment. Now that the two of them were alone, the silence crept back in. Kahlan rose and closed the distance between them. She placed a gentle hand on Cara’s forearm. The Mord’Sith locked eyes with her. Kahlan’s breath caught at the misery written plainly across Cara’s face. Then, the emotion was gone, hidden behind the mask that Cara was so good at wearing.  
  
“We should get some sleep,” Cara said stiffly. And with that she spun on her heel and walked away.  
  
***  
  
“Cara, wait!”  
  
As she plunged into the trees, the Mord’Sith could hear the crunch of Kahlan’s hurried steps in the leaf litter behind her. Cara felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Something tight and awful clutched at her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs and crushing her heart. She couldn’t face Kahlan, didn’t want to hear the words she knew must come. Not yet.  
  
“Cara, stop! You can’t just walk away like this.”  
  
Blindly, Cara quickened her pace, not knowing or caring where she was going. Branches slapped against her leather in the darkness.  
  
“I told you to stop, Mistress Cara.”  
  
The command snapped through the night air like a whip crack. Cara froze. Kahlan never used her Mord’Sith title. Cara squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep, shaky breath. She was afraid. As inconceivable as it seemed, some quiet part of her recognized the emotion coursing through her. The mere thought shocked and angered her. Cara had always been convinced that Kahlan would see reason and abandon her for a far more suitable mate. Now, she had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable. She deserved no less than Kahlan’s disgust. Yet the thought of losing Kahlan terrified her. Only rage at her own weakness, her own fear, made her strong enough to turn and await Kahlan’s judgment.  
  
Slowly, Cara brought herself around to face the Confessor, a dark smile on her face. “What can I do for you, Lady Rahl?”  
  
“At least I have your attention now,” snapped Kahlan as she stalked forward, stopping a few paces from Cara. “The Keeper take you, Cara Mason! What are you playing at? I haven’t known whether you were alive or dead for weeks, then you show up and act as if you can’t get away from me fast enough. You are impossible!” Kahlan shouted angrily, but behind her anger lay desperation and hurt. Tears glittered in her eyes.  
  
All the fight bled out of Cara at the sight of Kahlan’s pain. Her shoulders slumped and her muscles felt weary. “Kahlan, it’s not like that.”  
  
“Then what is it?” demanded Kahlan, taking another step closer.  
  
“Kahlan, please-“  
  
“No, Cara, not this time. I can’t have you this close to me and so far away at the same time. It hurts too much. Now, tell me what is going on!” Kahlan’s voice rose, her chest heaving.  
  
“I DON’T DESERVE YOU!” Cara bellowed back before she could think about what she was saying, her arms flung wide as if it was obvious.  
  
A shocked silence filled the gap between them. Kahlan stared unblinking at Cara, her blue eyes unreadable in the darkness. The Mord’Sith crossed her arms across her chest and lowered her gaze to a point a few inches in front of her boots. She couldn’t bear to face the Confessor’s terrible stillness.   
  
The soft rustle of Kahlan’s dress announced her approach. Cara ignored the wild pounding of her heart, keeping her eyes fastened to the forest floor. Then a hand reached for her, the palm placed flat against her chest. The tenderness in the action caused Cara’s head to jerk up in surprise and she caught the sad expression on Kahlan’s face.  
  
“Cara, I can think of no one who deserves me more than you,” said Kahlan gently.  
  
“How can you say that, knowing what I did to…what I did before I was freed?” Cara asked, her brow knitted together in confusion.  
  
“It was an illusion, nothing but an illusion,” soothed Kahlan.  
  
Cara tensed again, reliving her time in the cell again. She shook her head fiercely. “You would not say that if you experienced it. It felt as real as you standing here now. Though I know it didn’t happen, part of me can’t shake the feeling it did. I tortured you, Kahlan. For days. How can you even look at me, knowing that? You should despise me. Anyone who would do that to someone they care about… I-”

  
Cara swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She averted her eyes once more. “I am not worthy of you.”  
  
Kahlan’s warm hands, gentle but firm, cupped Cara’s jaw, lifting her chin until she had no choice but to meet the Confessor’s soft gaze. There was no reproach, no bitterness in Kahlan’s face. Her clear blue eyes shone bright with compassion and love. For the first time, Cara latched onto a small fragment of hope, clinging to it with all her might.  
  
The Confessor spoke. “You were under a spell. But even if you weren’t, Cara, your choice does not make you sick or weak. You willingly broke your own heart to keep the person you love, to keep me, alive, knowing full well it might end everything between us. Most people are not capable of such sacrifice. Most are not brave enough.”  
  
Cara opened her mouth to protest, but Kahlan halted her with a little shake of her head.  
  
“If you feel you need my forgiveness, you have it, though there is nothing to forgive.” Kahlan paused, letting out a soft chuckle. “Remember, that it was I who, three years ago, stabbed the man I loved in the heart, and that was real, it wasn’t a spell. How could I ever hold what you did against you? I just want you with me. I need you with me. I love you.”  
  
Cara could hardly believe her own ears. None of Kahlan’s words made sense to her, even if they were exactly what she wanted to hear. She couldn’t reconcile her own self-loathing with the gleam of love that radiated from Kahlan. Emotions collided and tangled inside of her, roiling her stomach. Kahlan would not lie about such things, but Cara could not comprehend how she had inspired such feelings in the Mother Confessor. She was Mord’Sith, she was broken, she was less than whole, less than human. A woman such as Kahlan should not love the likes of her.  
  
Cara’s struggles must have been evident on her face, because Kahlan fixed her with a serious stare. “Do you trust me, Cara?”  
  
There lay the crux of the matter, naked and exposed. The illusory Confessor’s words echoed in Cara’s mind. _You never trusted me. Not completely anyway…You always had to be in control._ Now, as she stared into Kahlan’s eyes, probing those blue depths, the simple truth became evident.  
  
“I trust you – with everything.” The admission was barely a whisper. Cara hesitated, and then finished her thought. “It’s me I don’t trust.”  
  
“But I do. I trust you. It’s fine if you don’t understand why. It’s enough that I do. Love is not something to be earned, to be deserved. It is a gift to be given. Stop fighting, Cara, and trust that when I give you my love, I know what I am doing.” Kahlan’s calm voice held a profound, commanding dignity as she spoke, the certainty of the Mother Confessor mixed with the passion of a lover.  
  
A strange warmth flowed through Cara at Kahlan’s words. The doubt inside her shifted and released, her tension gently washed away by relief. Maybe Kahlan was right – maybe Cara didn’t need to understand. Part of her still whispered that she was not worthy, but she felt that part diminishing, its voice weaker now. She didn’t know if it would ever truly be gone, but it didn’t matter. Kahlan thought she was worthy, and she trusted Kahlan. It was that simple.  
  
Cara wrapped her arms around Kahlan’s waist, drawing their bodies together until their hips met. The Confessor relaxed in Cara’s grip, Kahlan’s hands and forearms resting on Cara’s chest. Cara found that she couldn’t stop staring up at Kahlan. She felt as if the Confessor could see every part of her, but for the first time she did not flinch from the scrutiny. Suddenly, a thought popped into her mind.  
  
“I love you, Kahlan,” she said solemnly.  
  
Kahlan’s eyes widened in surprise and joy, the blue of her irises deepening. “I know you do. You find ways to show me that every day.”  
  
“Yes, but I’ve never said it before. I am sorry for that,” replied Cara gruffly. “I will be sure to say it more often. You deserve to hear it.”  
  
“Thank you, Cara, for telling me.”  
  
The Confessor’s head dipped slightly, and Kahlan captured Cara’s lips softly with her own. Cara lost herself in the sensation, letting her lips explore the mouth that was both incredibly familiar and unexpectedly new. She placed her own light kisses on Kahlan’s chin, her cheeks, the scar just above the Confessor’s lip, before returning to Kahlan’s mouth. Their tongues met, parted, and then met again with growing intensity. Kahlan’s sharp intake of breath sent a jolt of passion and desire cascading through Cara. The Mord’Sith’s skin grew hot under her leathers. With a groan that expressed both her physical want and her frustration, Cara pushed Kahlan back so that the span of a hand separated their bodies.  
  
“Kahlan, as much as it would give me great pleasure to show you exactly how much I love you right now, we do have to return to Aydindril in the morning and it will be dawn before long,” she said, hoping her voice sounded appropriately stern. If Kahlan persisted even a little, her resolve would crumble like dust scattered in the wind.  
  
“I know,” replied Kahlan, her own disappointment evident from the strain in her voice. “I am exhausted.”  
  
“And since you insisted on giving our bedroll away to the wizard, we’ve got nothing but a cloak that Belle packed for me,” Cara chided. “Of course, it is also my fault for not taking her supplies when she decided to stay behind.”  
  
“I don’t care if we only have the ground, as long as you will share it with me,” responded Kahlan, placing a brief kiss on Cara’s forehead.  
  
“If I must,” drawled Cara, teasing Kahlan with a bored, disinterested expression.  
  
“Oh, you must.” Kahlan smiled.  
  
They quietly made their way back to camp. Zedd was already sound asleep in the bedroll. Cara mentioned keeping watch, but Kahlan hushed her. The Night Wisps would guard their rest. When they were finally settled beneath the cloak, Kahlan tucked safely in the curve of Cara’s body, Cara inhaled the sweet scent of her lover. Her eyes closed, her muscles relaxed, and her mind drifted.  
  
“I do love you, Kahlan,” she muttered sleepily.  
  
“I know. I love you too,” came the murmured reply.  
  
As Cara began sliding into sleep, one last realization crossed her mind. This is what home feels like. No place had ever felt like home to her since she had been taken from Stowecroft as a child. Not a Mord’Sith temple, not the People’s Palace, not Aydindril, not even Stowecroft when she had returned as an adult. But here, with Kahlan in her arms, she was home. With that final thought, even Zedd’s snores could not keep Cara from a deep and dreamless sleep.  
  
***  
  
Dawn came far too soon for Cara’s liking. She’d had little rest during her confinement in the dungeons of the Confessors Palace, and though she had slept like the dead beside Kahlan, it had been only for a few hours at most. Aches that she’d been willfully ignoring had crept in overnight and were demanding that their presence be acknowledged. Not that her companions would hear a word of complaint from her, but she muttered curses under her breath as she stowed the cloak away in her saddle bags while the wizard and the Confessor were out of earshot. The only sliver of contentment Cara had felt that morning was the touch of light kisses that Kahlan had used to awaken her. For a tiny moment before Cara’s mind reminded her of where she was and what she was about to be doing, the Mord’Sith simply basked in the feel of her lovers lips on her skin.   
  
Kicking a last mound of dirt over the nearly extinguished fire, Cara hoisted the saddle bags over her shoulder and headed for the clearing. Zedd and Kahlan were already there, trying to convince Scarlet to join in their schemes. From the sound of it, they were having little luck.  
  
“I HAVE MADE MY DECISION, PROTECTOR. YOU HAVE YOUR DUTY AND I HAVE MINE. I WILL NOT ALLOW MY KIND TO BE CHAINED TO THE WIZARD ANY LONGER.”  
  
Cara heard the wizard pipe up. “But surely a few more days will not matter?”  
  
“YOU DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHEN YOU WILL STRIKE. A FEW DAYS MAY BECOME A FEW WEEKS. AND HAD YOU EVER WORN ONE OF THOSE STONES, WIZARD, YOU WOULD KNOW THAT EVEN A FEW DAYS WOULD BE TOO LONG. I WILL NOT WAIT.”  
  
Emerging from under cover of the trees, Cara entered the clearing. The impatient dragon glared at Kahlan and Zedd, thin wisps of smoke escaping her nostrils, the end of her tail flicking like an agitated cat.  
  
“I have worn one of those Stones,” spoke Cara loudly, so that all three heads turned toward her.

Now that she had their attention, the Mord’Sith stared directly at Scarlet. “What did you see when you wore the Stone? What did Prentax make you do?”  
  
The dragon seemed to be taken aback by the question. “IT WAS MY SON. HE WAS ALIVE AGAIN, BUT HE WAS IN TERRIBLE PAIN. HE BEGGED ME TO KILL HIM. I COULD SEE THAT HIS INJURIES WERE MORTAL, THAT HE WOULD DIE ANYWAY, BUT HOW COULD I DO IT? TO LOSE HIM, AND THEN HAVE HIM BACK, ONLY TO LOSE HIM AGAIN. I AM ASHAMED TO SAY IT WAS TOO MUCH. I WAS WEAK AND INSTEAD OF BRINGING MY SON A MERCIFUL DEATH, I…I-“  
  
“You surrendered to the Stone’s magic. I would have too. And had you killed your son, the grief would have driven you to surrender as well,” said Cara, with calm certainty. She did not judge the dragon, she knew the terrible truth of the Stones for herself. “Do you know what he made me do? He made me torture the one person who matters to me more than anything in all of Creation. He made me torture her until she begged me to stop and then made me torture her some more. I would have given up everything, including my free will, to make it stop. I almost did, except the Night Wisps arrived in time and showed me the illusion of it.”  
  
Cara stepped further into the meadow, nearing the dragon. Each step she took stirred hot, thick rage in her veins as she remembered, but her voice was steady as she continued, “I know that it is still real, even now. I know that you still hear your son’s screams, as I hear my lover’s. So believe me when I say Prentax will die, and it will not be in a few weeks. It will be soon – very, very soon. However, I will not let the Mother Confessor die in a vain and foolish charge. We need information before we can act. But I give you my word, if you agree to help us, Prentax will not live through the week.”  
  
Scarlet regarded her with what on a human would be taken for a scowl. Cara wondered if her words had penetrated the dragon’s staunch resistance. A low rumble emanated from the beast’s broad chest.  
  
“YOU HAVE THREE DAYS. THEN I STRIKE, WITH YOU OR WITHOUT YOU.”  
  
“Then we’ll try to make it two,” Cara replied in a tone she hoped was vaguely appeasing. Now that she had wrung the concession from the dragon, she wanted to keep Scarlet as happy as possible under the circumstances.  
  
“SEE THAT YOU DO. COME, IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO RETURN TO AYDINDRIL.”  
  
The dragon lowered her wing again and Cara strode up onto the creature’s back. It wasn’t until she was atop the beast’s shoulders that she noticed Kahlan and Zedd staring up at her – Kahlan with a mix of pride and amusement, Zedd with astonishment.  
  
“Well, come on,” huffed Cara. “Scarlet doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and neither do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m subjecting you to a few more lyrics that seemed to connect to this chapter for me.
> 
> “There's the wind and the rain  
> And the mercy of the fallen  
> Who say they have no claim  
> To know what's right
> 
> There's the weak and the strong  
> And the many stars that guide us  
> We have some of them inside us” – Dar Williams


	10. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kahlan and Cara return to Aydindril, but there are a few unexpected surprises in the battle to reclaim the city.

Cara watched the Honking Goose with a wary eye. She, Zedd, and Kahlan were tucked away in the shadows of an alleyway positioned across from the tavern, letting the darkness of night shield them from prying eyes. The night was cool and mist was gathering, the remnants of spring still clinging to air. It was a far cry from the bright sun that had warmed them as they had flown on Scarlet’s back on their return to the city. Once again, the feeling of heady elation had claimed Cara during their flight, but Kahlan was not so keen. When they had finally landed, while Zedd was exclaiming over the wonders of his first dragon ride, Cara had caught the Confessor whispering a prayer of thanks for her feet touching solid ground. Cara had smirked a little, but had also run a soothing hand down Kahlan’s arm.  
  
After Scarlet had circled wide around Aydindril and any watchful guards that might notice a dragon soaring in the sky, she had dropped them in a glade several leagues north of the city. With promises to send word back with the Night Wisps, the three had departed on foot. They had reached sight of the city walls by late afternoon, and using an underground passage known only to Kahlan, they had slipped unnoticed into Aydindril.   
  
Now, Cara shivered. She pulled her stolen cloak more tightly around her, carefully concealing any sign of her red leathers. She’d procured the cloak, along with the one Kahlan wore, from an inattentive housewife who’d been distracted by one of Zedd’s diversions, while Cara slipped into the kitchen’s back entrance. It chafed Cara’s pride – she was no thief – but her leathers and Kahlan’s white Confessor’s gown stuck out like Darken Rahl in a pink dress. Zedd wore the cloak Belle had packed for Cara, but there was nothing she could do to hide the old wizard’s towering height. Cloaks or no, if one of Prentax’s patrols had caught them out during curfew they would have been in serious trouble, but fortunately they had been able to avoid that particular problem.  
  
They’d been waiting for almost a candlemark across from the tavern. Of course, with the curfew in place, there were no patrons coming in and out of the establishment, but the light of a low fire shown through the windows of the downstairs common room. Here and there, a candle flickered in the windows on the floor above as well. Clearly the place was still inhabited, but Cara would not let them enter until she was certain that she could trust the occupants. Kahlan peered intently over Cara’s shoulder, standing motionless and still. Zedd had settled himself on an empty barrel. He, too, remained quiet, but occasionally Cara would hear him shift, easing the ache in his bones from sitting in one position too long.  
  
A tall figure in a dark colored cloak - navy blue perhaps, though Cara couldn’t tell for sure – appeared in the street across from them. He moved swiftly but carefully, frequently checking around him, presumably to be sure he was not caught by one of the patrols. Cara judged the figure to be male, and well-muscled too, based on the figure’s broad shoulders and wide gait. The man stopped in front of the Honking Goose and placed his hand on the handle of the door. He glanced around him slowly one more time, and Cara caught a glimpse of his face in what little light there was coming from the tavern’s windows.  
  
“Alric!” she hissed loudly.  
  
The man’s attention snapped to the mouth of the alleyway and he squinted into the shadows. Cara had recognized him as a sergeant in the Home Guard, and knew he was an honest, solid man. If they could reveal themselves to anyone, Alric was a good option. Cara stepped forward and lowered her hood. Alric’s brown eyes grew huge with surprise.  
  
“Mistress Cara?!” he said in a low, uncertain voice, as if not believing what he was seeing.  
  
“Yes, now get over here, you fool,” she whispered sharply.  
  
Alric hurried across the road to them, joining them in the darkness. His eyes grew even larger once he took in the sight of the Mother Confessor and the First Wizard at Cara’s side.   
  
“Mother Confessor, it is not safe for you here,” he whispered urgently.  
  
“I’m well aware of that, sergeant,” Kahlan replied, but she gave him a small, comforting smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of safety while Aydindril languishes under Prentax. Now, what I need to know is if the Honking Goose is still safe for the resistance.”  
  
“Yes, Mother Confessor,” replied the sergeant. “There is a meeting of the resistance leaders tonight at the tavern. Most of them have probably gathered by now, but I was delayed for nearly two candlemarks while hiding from a patrol. They’ve been getting worse every day.”  
  
“Well then, I suggest we get inside before another patrol comes along,” said Kahlan.  
  
“Of course. When we learned that there was a Confessor in the city, we welcomed the news. But now, to have the Mother Confessor returned to us, along with the First Wizard and Mistress Cara – the men will be beside themselves!” Alric whispered excitedly.  
  
Gripping the soldier’s arm, Cara spun him back around before he could exit the alley. Her eyes narrowed. “Another Confessor?”  
  
Alric grinned as he responded, “Yes, Confessor Dennee returned to Aydindril two days ago. She’s been helping to organize the resistance ever since.”  
  
With that, he edged to the mouth of the alley and scanned the road in either direction. He crossed back to the tavern, motioning for them to follow. Cara hesitated, looking at Kahlan. Suddenly Cara’s mouth had gone dry. Kahlan’s eyes were hidden by the shadow of her hood, but the Confessor gave Cara’s hand a quick squeeze as she passed the Mord’Sith. Cara couldn’t tell if the gesture was for Kahlan’s sake or her own, though she wondered if it was for both.  
  
***  
  
After giving a brief nod to the barman, Alric shepherded them straight through the common room into a large store room. More than twenty people were crammed into the space, and after the chill night, the air in the room was stuffy and overly warm. Cara shrugged out of her cloak as she surveyed the room’s occupants. She saw a dozen faces from the Home Guard, a few local merchants, one or two people she didn’t recognize, and there, beside Belle and Merrilyn, at the far end of the room like a queen holding court, sat Dennee, draped in the black of her Confessor’s dress.  
  
Next to Cara, Kahlan lowered the hood of her cloak, and a collective gasp went up. The soldiers quickly clapped their fists over their chests and tried to kneel, but the space was too cramped and Kahlan gently urged them to remain standing. Belle grinned broadly at them, and even Merry allowed herself a smile as she bowed her head and gave a small curtsy to the Mother Confessor. Only Dennee did not stir. After a moment, she rose slowly from her chair.  
  
“Dennee,” said Kahlan.  
  
“Mother Confessor,” replied Dennee quietly, her expression inscrutable. Cara stiffened, as the tension swirled around her.  
  
Then Dennee threw herself across the room. Cara almost thought she meant to attack Kahlan, so fierce was her expression, but the next moment Dennee had Kahlan wrapped in her arms and was nearly sobbing into her shoulder. Kahlan returned the embrace warmly, a few stray tears escaping from her eyes.  
  
“Thank the Spirits, you’re alive,” said Dennee, sniffling slightly as she leaned back to look into Kahlan’s face. She touched Kahlan’s cheek with a trembling hand. “When I heard that Aydindril had fallen, I could think of nothing but getting here as soon as I could. Kahlan, I’ve been such a stubborn fool. Will you ever forgive me?”  
  
Kahlan drew Dennee back into a tight hug. “There is nothing to forgive, little sister. You would not be an Amnell if you were not at least a little stubborn. And trust me, I doubt one more Confessor in Aydindril would have prevented it from falling. I am glad that you were not here. But what of your son?”  
  
“Edmund is with his grandmother. He is safe,” replied Dennee. She stepped back, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. She looked first at Zedd, then at Cara, her gaze lingering longer over the Mord’Sith. Cara nearly twitched under the scrutiny, but she held Dennee’s gaze.  
  
“It is good to see you again, Zedd.” Dennee paused. Her voice was chillier, but still cordial as she said, “And you as well, Cara.”  
  
The wizard murmured his salutations, while Cara gave the Confessor a small nod. It was if the whole room exhaled at once. Doubtless, everyone in the room knew of the last, less than friendly parting between the Mother Confessor and her sister. With old wounds seemingly healed over, everyone could relax a tiny bit.  
  
“So, would anyone care to tell me what has been going on in my city while I’ve been gone?” asked Kahlan.  
  
***  
  
The plan was set. Runners had been sent to the various resistance safe houses throughout the city and the Night Wisps had been sent back to inform Scarlet of her part in the plan. The attack would be in two days, during a meeting of Prentax with the Council of the Midlands. The wizard planned to declare himself Emperor and demand the fealty of the provinces. The distraction of the meeting seemed to be an ideal time to act. A diversionary force would attack the main gates of the Confessors Palace, led by Alric and several others, while the main body, including Zedd, Dennee, Belle, Merry, Kahlan and Cara, would enter the Palace through one of the secret passages known to Kahlan. This secondary force would take the Great Hall first, hopefully securing Prentax in the process. With the wizard defeated, they anticipated that his followers would scatter easily. Scarlet would free the rest of the dragons before Prentax could call them to him. _It is a sound plan_ , thought Cara. The diversionary force would likely take heavy losses, but it could not be avoided, and she deemed it a necessary risk. Yes, it was a strong plan - if only it did not involve putting Kahlan in the middle of the battle.  
  
Cara had taken her leave of the storage room once the details had been settled, needing to escape the press of too many bodies in the enclosed space. The tavern proprietor had given her a room on the second floor where Kahlan and she could spend the night. She left the candles unlit so she could stare out the window onto the street below without being noticed. Other than the runners disappearing into the night, the street had remained deserted. Once again, the impression of a city abandoned washed over her, setting her nerves on edge.  
  
When the door opened behind her, Cara expected it to be Kahlan, and she was surprised to hear Dennee’s voice instead.  
  
“I hear Councilor Timmick will declare Tamarang for Prentax,” said the Confessor as she joined Cara by the window. Cara glanced over, but Dennee was staring at the street below.  
  
Cara’s lip curled into a sneer. “I am not surprised. Tamarang has rolled over for any conqueror that lays claim to the First Chair. I told Kahlan she should not trust him.”  
  
“Interesting. I too warned her of Timmick’s ways not long before I left Aydindril,” responded Dennee.  
  
“Sometimes, I think that Kahlan is too trusting,” murmured Cara.  
  
“Once, I thought as you do. I’ve had a long time away from her to ponder it.” Dennee finally turned her gaze to Cara. Cara could see strong emotions brewing in the Confessor’s eyes. “Now, I see that Kahlan is not naïve. She probably suspected Timmick’s duplicitous nature as much as you or I, but she is sworn to uphold the law of the Midlands. She could not act against him without provoking the other provinces. Better to leave him be and keep the peace. I see that now.”  
  
Cara snorted at this. She still had no stomach for the politics that was the daily bread of the Mother Confessor’s existence, though she could not deny that Dennee’s words held a certain logic.  
  
Dennee went on, “And she trusted you. I thought that a mistake, also.”  
  
“And now?” asked Cara. Her heart skipped a beat. She doubted that Dennee would ever forgive her for what she had done to the Confessor, but she did not want to continue being a wedge between Kahlan and her sister.  
  
“I think Kahlan may have the right of it, yet again.” Dennee sighed. “Make no mistake. I don’t know if I will ever be able to look at you without seeing Valeria and my own son, dead in my arms. Even adopting Edmund cannot erase that. But, if everything these resistance fighters keep telling me is true, then my sister has made a wise choice in her lover.”  
  
“That is what she keeps telling me,” said Cara, a little wistfully.  
  
“Perhaps it is true, then.”  
  
Dennee made her way back to the door. She opened it and took half a step across the threshold before she paused and looked at Cara again.  
  
“When this battle begins, Cara, protect her.”  
  
“With my life,” answered Cara solemnly.  
  
“You know, for a Mord’Sith, I can nearly read you sometimes. I would almost swear you were telling me the truth just then,” remarked Dennee quietly, as if to herself.  
  
Then she was gone, leaving Cara to mull over Dennee’s words.  
  
***  
  
Nearly one hundred people crammed into the dim passage. Between the heat of the bodies and the torches that burned at intervals along the wall, the temperature was stifling, but Cara took no notice. The air was thick with sweat and anticipation as they waited for the sounds of the diversionary squad’s attack. A vanguard of Home Guard soldiers was positioned in front of Cara. Beside her, Kahlan waited, her face calm and relaxed, but her body radiating tension.   
  
Directly behind Cara, Belle fidgeted in the borrowed chainmail shirt that was a fraction too tight. The blacksmith’s hammer was tucked in its usual place on her belt and she held an axe – not the woodcutter’s hatchet she had used in her first battle, but a genuine double-edged war axe that one of the soldiers had procured for her. She twirled it nervously in her hand. Beside Belle, Merry looked tiny in the leather jerkin that was two sizes too large for her. It wasn’t much protection, but it was something, and the small woman wasn’t used to wearing anything as heavy as armor. The clerk squeezed the handles of her new daggers until her knuckles shown white. Her face was pale and drawn. Cara had nearly ordered both of them to stay behind, but Belle had insisted on securing the fireshots, and Merry had insisted on accompanying Belle. Cara had relented, accepting that they needed all the bodies that they could muster. Kahlan had assigned Dennee and a couple of fighters to protect and aid Belle and Merry. Dennee and Zedd had drawn up behind the blacksmith and the clerk, and they were both grim and silent.  
  
Trailing away beyond the wizard and the Confessor, the rest of the fighters stretched down the narrow corridor, the end past the edge of Cara’s vision. In the tight space, the force appeared large, but Cara knew that they were outnumbered at least three to one and that a hundred fighters could easily be spread thin in the vast palace. She and Kahlan had ordered them to stay tight, focusing on key areas only – the main gates and the battlements surrounding it, the main courtyard, the entry hall and the Great Hall beyond it. The hidden passage they were in now led to the passage with the statue of Magda Searus. Once in the Palace, they would funnel into the entry hall, where they would break up into the smaller squads as Cara and Kahlan had assigned. One squad would secure the entry hall, while another that included Cara, Kahlan and Zedd would take the Great Hall and ensnare Prentax. The rest of the soldiers would attempt to overcome Prentax’s forces on the walls and at the gate, thereby securing a reprieve for the squad attacking the main gate from the outside. _If all goes according to plan, that is_ , thought Cara sourly. She dropped her hand to her agiel, letting the sharp tingle cleanse her mind of worry.  
  
Suddenly, the sound of muffled explosions reached their ears. Tension mounted as the fighters leaned forward as one, like hounds that had just spotted a fox. Kahlan reached for her daggers and Cara unsheathed her agiels. The pain stirred the blood lust in Cara and her lips twitched, almost curling into a smile.   
  
“Lieutenant, take us out,” commanded the Mother Confessor.  
  
***  
  
Belle didn’t have time to think as she ran after Dennee, one hand latched onto Merry, dragging the clerk behind her. She heard the whistle of the ball an instant before the cobblestones just a few paces away disintegrated into smoke and rubble. Shards of rock slashed at them, blown outward in all directions. A sharp sting and the warmth on her cheek told her that one of the shards had sliced across her face. She increased her pace, driven on by cold fear. They needed to get under cover, fast.  
  
The three women reached a small gate that opened on stairs leading to the Palace walls. They stumbled inside. No enemy soldiers were present and they took a moment to catch their breath.  
  
“You said the fireshots wouldn’t work,” growled Dennee, her eyes blazing.  
  
“I said that they would stop working after a shot or two, maybe three,” retorted Belle. She jabbed a finger out through the gate, pointing at the walls across the main courtyard. At several points along the walls chunks were missing from the main walkways, black smoke billowing up into the blue sky. “Those fireshots have already malfunctioned and I guarantee you that some of those explosions took out at least a few of the enemy.”  
  
After the Mother Confessor’s fighters had overrun the entry hall, making short work of Prentax’s men, the squad of which Belle and Merry were part split off from the main force with one goal in mind – capture and destroy all the fireshots. Dennee had divided their small group in two, sending the Home Guard soldiers to the other side of the courtyard to secure the fireshots there. Each group would take out the fireshots on their side one at a time, working their way along the wall and converging on the central walkway above the main gate.  
  
“We need to find the one that isn’t faulty,” gasped Merry, chest still heaving as she caught her breath.  
  
“Prentax had it mounted over the main gate,” said Belle.  
  
“Well, there’s only one way to get there. Follow me and stay close,” Dennee ordered as she began sprinting up the steps. The Confessor seemed to be fueled by a barely contained rage, and Belle and Merry struggled to keep her in sight.  
  
When they reached the top of the wall, Dennee was already engaged with two of Prentax’s men near an intact fireshot. With her black dress swirling about her and her silver daggers glinting in the sun, the Confessor appeared as a thunderstorm transformed into living flesh. The soldiers fell quickly before her onslaught. Behind her, Merry and Belle rolled the fireshot to the edge of the wall and tipped it over the battlement. It smashed, twisted and useless, on the ground below.  
  
The trio worked their way quickly along the wall, dispatching enemies and fireshots alike. Just as Belle had promised, three of the fireshots already lay in blackened, twisted heaps of metal. Merry and Belle sent another fireshot sailing out over the wall. Belle could see the Home Guard making their way along the other wall, similarly disposing of the weapons.  
  
Finally they stood no more than twenty paces from the final fireshot. Two Mord’Sith blocked their way, each exuding a confident, deadly grace as they approached slowly. Belle gripped Dennee’s arm before the Confessor could launch herself at the leather-clad warriors.  
  
“Let me. I have a special treat for them,” said Belle in a low voice.  
  
The blacksmith sauntered forward to meet the Mord’Sith. She slid the axe into a loop at the back of her belt and faced the women empty handed.  
  
“Hello, ladies,” said Belle, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
The Mord’Sith hesitated, apparently confused by Belle’s unflustered reaction. They were used to being feared by most people, and Belle’s ease confounded them. They frowned. Then one of them shrugged at the other, and they charged Belle together, each jabbing an agiel into the blacksmith’s side. Baffled trepidation flitted across the Mord’Siths’ faces when she did not cry out. Instead she grinned at them.  
  
“I take it neither of you have had the pleasure of meeting a pristinely ungifted one before?” she asked calmly as she grasped their agiels, one in each hand, and yanked the weapons away from the Mord’Sith. She backhanded both of them in the face, and they reeled back.  
  
Turning to Dennee, Belle said, ”They’re all yours.”  
  
With a snarl, Dennee fell on the Mord’Sith, her lips drawn back like a feral animal. Belle thought that the Confessor would have used her daggers, but she was shocked when Dennee wrapped one of her hands around each of the women’s throats, her fingers digging into their flesh. Pure hate flooded the Confessor’s features just before her eyes swirled black.  
  
“Cara Mason may yet live, but I will never forgive your kind,” she growled low, almost as if talking to herself. “Now die.”  
  
The women screamed in unison as the power of confession tore through them. The Mord’Sith fell to the ground, twisting in agony. Though she had seen much bloodshed in the past weeks, the brutality before her left Belle breathless, bile rising in her throat. Merry buried her face in Belle’s shoulder as if to block out the sight. Belle looked at the Confessor standing before her, wondering what had happened to her to fill her with such cruelty.  
  
Dennee blinked and swallowed, and she seemed to shrink as the hatred drained from her face. The Mord’Sith were still and lifeless.  
  
“Let’s finish this,” the Confessor said coldly, motioning at the last fireshot.   
  
Belle nodded numbly. She went to take a step forward when the walkway in front of her seemed to explode. All three women were thrown back as two massive red bodies collided with and rolled over the wall, dropping into the main courtyard below. Two dragons landed in an immense, snarling heap of claws and fangs on the cobblestones. Belle scrambled to the edge of the wall, scarcely believing what she was seeing. Her heart pounded from nearly being smashed beneath the beasts that now wrestled with each other below her. One of the dragons pinned the other to the ground, only to be thrown back by a powerful kick from the other’s hind legs. Belle knew the collarless dragon, still on her back, must be Scarlet. Apparently, the dragon had not been entirely successful in freeing the last of the enslaved dragons before Prentax called to them.  
  
Scarlet rolled to her feet and roared before charging the smaller but faster, collared dragon. He dodged the attack, smashing his tail into Scarlet’s face. She responded by burying her teeth deep in the tail, dragging him backwards. He slashed at her face with his front claws, and she was forced to release his tail in order to avoid being hit. They both snarled and began to circle each other warily. Atop the wall Belle, Merry, and Dennee watched in awe. Yet Belle could not help but notice the way one of Scarlet’s wings drooped at her side, and the dragon’s own blood covered her muzzle, welling up from a dozen deep cuts.  
  
“We’ve got to help Scarlet,” Belle said.  
  
“What, are you crazy?” replied Merry. Dennee looked at her as if she had grown a second head. Belle ignored their expressions as she searched around her. Her eyes fell on the last fireshot, still intact. The one she knew would not blow up on her if she used it. There was a gap in the walkway from where the dragons had slammed into the wall. Belle peered over the edge. There was nothing but air and the cobblestones of the courtyard far below. She swallowed and looked across to the fireshot. She could make it. At least she thought she could.  
  
“Belle, no,” Merry said warningly.  
  
The blacksmith looked back down into the courtyard. The collared dragon had Scarlet pinned again and was shredding the membrane of one of her wings in his teeth. Scarlet roared in fury and pain. The sound decided Belle. Taking a deep breath and a few running steps, the blacksmith launched herself across the gap.  
  
For a moment she thought she wouldn’t make it. She seemed to be dropping too quickly and her heart caught in her throat. Then her boots hit solid ground and she half-rolled, half-skidded forward. The impact jarred her bones and her chin slammed into the stones of the walkway, but adrenaline coursed through her, and the pain seemed far away.  
  
Belle clambered over to the fireshot on hands and knees. The Creator must have smiled on her because the weapon was still loaded. Straining, she rolled the heavy bulk into position, pointing the fireshot down into the courtyard. She sighted down the length of the fireshot, making sure it was aimed at the collared dragon. Frantically, she clawed for her knife and steel, yanking them out. Taking one more glance to assure that the fireshot was still lined up, she struck the steel and the fuse caught.  
  
The boom echoed across the courtyard. Both dragons’ heads swung around to face her. Time seemed to slow down as the ball whizzed through the air. Belle watched as it closed in on its target – and missed by scarce feet. The collared dragon’s eyes narrowed and Belle heard him inhale. She threw herself down, rolling as far away from the courtyard as she could. Flames shot past her, arcing in sky above her. The air itself seemed to be singed as the stones underneath her warmed alarmingly. _How could I miss a target as big as a dragon?_ Belle thought miserably as she curled up against the far battlement, her arms wrapped over her head.  
  
The fire stopped but Belle heard the sound of claws meeting stone. She knew with dreadful certainty that the dragon was climbing up the wall toward her. Panic clouded her mind. Her body felt frozen, her muscles stiff and unresponsive.  
  
“Belle, run!” shrieked Merry, terror raising the pitch of the clerk’s voice.  
  
Merry’s scream penetrated the fog shrouding Belle’s brain. The blacksmith shoved herself to her feet. Before she could take a step, however, she tumbled forward as the wall lurched and swayed. Her knee cracked against the stone as she fell and she hissed as pain shot through her leg. She tried regaining her feet, but her knee screamed in protest and refused to support her weight. The sound of rending metal filled the air and the wall trembled again. The harsh scrape of scrabbling claws on stone grew louder. The dragon appeared over the edge of the wall. Belle watched helpless and exposed as it pulled its entire body onto the wall, its front legs straddling Belle where she hunched. A cold yellow eye fixed itself upon her, and Belle stared at her death.  
  
Then with a great sweep of wings, the dragon erupted into the air. Dust and smoke swirled around Belle as the powerful down strokes sent eddies spinning off in every direction. Disbelief mingled with exhilaration as she realized that she was not going to die. She let out a loud whoop. A triumphant roar from below made her jump. Careful to avoid hitting her wounded knee, the blacksmith clamored to get a better view of the courtyard. Scarlet stood tall and proud, the two mangled halves of the collar at her feet. The dragon caught sight of the blacksmith and the dragon tilted her head, as if she were giving Belle a nod of approval.  
  
“THANK YOU, HUMAN.”  
  
Speechless, Belle simply waved in acknowledgement. The great beast gave herself a shake and inspected her damaged wing. She stretched it out to its full length, the tip almost touching the far wall of the courtyard and flapped it once. Seemingly satisfied, the dragon’s gaze sought out the blacksmith again.   
  
“GIVE MY THANKS TO THE PROTECTOR AND HER MATE AS WELL. FOR HUMANS, THEY ARE QUITE…EXCEPTIONAL. NOW, I MUST GO. I AM SICK OF THE STENCH OF MEN – NO OFFENSE INTENDED.”  
  
“None taken,” said Belle in a weak voice, still stunned that a dragon was speaking to her. Despite her injured wing, Scarlet’s take off was somehow more dignified and graceful than the smaller dragons had been. Before Belle even had a chance to say good-bye, the magnificent creature threw out her wings and launched herself into the air with a powerful leap that cleared the palace wall. Her broad wings caught the breeze instantly and with a couple of strong wing beats, the dragon wheeled about and headed due east, quickly disappearing into the blue.  
  
Spent, Belle slumped down, her back against the battlement. Fatigue claimed her as the adrenaline drained away. Her knee throbbed relentlessly. But her chest swelled with pride as she looked across the gap to Merry and Dennee.  
  
“You have wool for brains, you idiot!” yelled Merry. Belle grinned at her, and the clerk stamped her foot. “Stay there. We’ll come around and get you.”  
  
“I’ll be here,” the blacksmith shouted back, trying to look sufficiently chastised for Merry’s sake. As the Confessor and the clerk turned to go, Belle let her head fall back on the edge of the wall. She gazed up at the clear sky above her where she could just make out the smaller dragon still circling lazily overhead. A breeze cooled the sweat on her brow. She smiled again. Mumbling contentedly to herself, she said, “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
***  
  
Chaos reigned in the Great Hall. Bodies crashed into one another, blades flashing, the screeching of metal on metal ringing in the air, and above it all the explosions of magic as the First Wizard and the traitorous Prentax traded enchanted volleys. Led by Cara and Kahlan, the resistance had entered the Great Hall just as the meeting of the Council had begun. Zedd had magically sealed all exits but the main entrance, leaving the only path of escape through the Home Guard soldiers. Terrified councilors had scattered like rats that had just been discovered in the pantry. Kahlan’s forces had orders to let them pass – all except Timmick, who had cowered at the foot of the First Chair next to his new master.

The Mother Confessor and her Mord’Sith met the first wave of Prentax’s soldiers together. They fought side by side, elegant and deadly, dancing with one another. They moved in complete synchrony, always perfectly aware of the other’s presence - Cara dropping as Kahlan’s dagger whistled overhead, only to rise to deflect a blow directed at Kahlan’s blindside - the Confessor spinning out of the way as the Mord’Sith moved past her to strike. They flowed with the unstoppable force of a tidal wave across the Hall, crushing any resistance in their path. But Cara was forced to break off. She had a specific task to do. She was the magic against the magic, and it fell to her to capture Prentax so that he could face the Mother Confessor’s justice.   
  
Now, Cara carved a path for herself, keeping Prentax always in her sights. The wizard seemed to take no notice as the Mord’Sith relentlessly stalked through the throng, cutting down enemies and shoving aside allies in her pursuit. Another figure wrapped in tight leather crossed her path, one of the turncoat Mord’Sith about which Berdine had warned her. Cara sneered as her agiels struck out like vicious snakes. The foolish woman was dead before she hit the ground, but Cara took no notice as she moved on. Her focus was for Prentax alone, and she watched him as a hawk watches an unsuspecting mouse.  
  
Cara reached the wizard in the middle of the melee. Two of his men, former Dragon Corps both, and another Mord’Sith battled by his side. Suddenly Prentax’s yellow eyes turned to Cara. He had the audacity to smile at her. Cara could feel her blood begin to boil, her cold exterior melting away with the fury of what this man had done to Kahlan, to Aydindril, to herself. He flicked his wrist, almost casually. She blocked his spell just as easily with an open palm, but it gave his guards enough time to close ranks around her. She snarled as she blocked a blow from one of the Dragon Corp deserters, and thrust an agiel into the side of the Mord’Sith. A kick sent the other D’Haran soldier tilting away on unbalanced legs. Two of the Home Guard caught him and swiftly brought him down.  
  
One of Cara’s agiels was ripped away by the wizard’s Mord’Sith. Cara used her free hand to yank a dagger from a sheath at the waist of the Dragon Corp guard. She jammed the blade up to the hilt under his arm where his armor gave him no protection, and he dropped away from her. Cara’s attention fell on the Mord’Sith, who now brandished Cara’s agiel as well as her own. Even doubly armed, the inexperienced, younger Mord’Sith was no equal to the woman who had once been Darken Rahl’s fiercest Sister of the Agiel. After a short, brutal struggle, Cara snapped the Mord’Sith’s neck and reclaimed her agiel.  
  
Prentax wasn’t smiling anymore. He raised a hand halfway to shoulder height, but thought better of it when Cara raised her own palm. Every instinct in her cried for her to destroy him, but without him they might not find the Heart Stone. So Cara and Prentax stood only paces from one another, blazing green eyes boring into flat, resentful yellow eyes, as the battle raged around them.  
  
Suddenly, a cry echoed from across the hall. Cara knew it was Kahlan, knew the Confessor was in trouble. She turned, just for a second. Her eyes sought Kahlan out, finding her near the First Chair. The Mother Confessor was being held by four of Prentax’s soldiers, her daggers strewn in front of her. Two men each held an arm, keeping Kahlan’s hands away from anyone, unable to fight or confess. Cara and Kahlan’s eyes met. Then Kahlan’s eyes went wide as Cara felt the blade slide between her ribs.  
  
Stunned, Cara stumbled backwards as her gaze fell to the hilt of a dagger jutting from her chest. Her lungs burned and she could not seem to draw enough air. She coughed and red foam spattered her lips. Shock rippled through her. She rocked on her feet as she reached for the dagger, only half-believing what she was seeing. A harsh laugh brought her gaze back to Prentax. His face contorted into a mask of rage.  
  
“You have been nothing but a thorn in my side, Mord’Sith. I’ve lost one of the stones and almost all of my dragons because of you. I should have killed you the moment I laid eyes on you,” he snarled. Then his face transformed into a look of triumph. “You may be able to deflect my magic, Mord’Sith, but you are as mortal as any woman with a blade in your heart. And I will have the Mother Confessor and the wizard at my command. You see, in the end, I will always win.”  
  
Cara cursed her own stupidity as she wrenched the blade from her body. She swayed dangerously, but her anger propelled her forward a step. She glowered at the wizard, her fist tight around the dagger’s hilt. His smile fading, Prentax looked alarmed for a moment, but as Cara tried to take another step forward she faltered. Her muscles felt suddenly useless and she labored for breath. Her blood roared in her ears.  
  
Cara’s legs buckled and she slumped to her knees. The knife slipped unnoticed from suddenly numb fingers. She knew she was dying. The blade had not struck her heart, but that only meant she would die more slowly. She had died before, sometimes quickly, sometimes not, but always there was the possibility of return, whether by the Breath of Life or the Keeper’s bargain. There was no one to bring her back this time. Her heart clenched as she thought of Kahlan. Cara wanted to live, wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.  
  
Another cry, more anguished than the last, brought Cara’s head up, though it seemed to be growing so heavy. Across the Great Hall, she could see Kahlan thrashing in the arms of the soldiers that held her, the Confessor’s eyes fixed on Cara. Cara’s heart slammed against her ribs, as if trying to escape her chest. Pain radiated out in every direction, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the wound or from the emotions that poured through her. There was so much she hadn’t told Kahlan, so much the Confessor deserved to hear. Knowing how little time was left, Cara silently reached out, trying desperately to communicate everything she had left unsaid as their eyes connected. She held Kahlan’s gaze as long as she could, throwing her mute words into the ether. Then a wave of darkness overcame her and she felt herself falling. Somewhere far away she could hear Kahlan screaming.  
  
***  
  
Watching with helpless horror as the wizard stabbed Cara, Kahlan felt almost as if Prentax’s blade had pierced her as well. Miraculously, Cara remained standing and even staggered forward toward the wizard, wielding his own knife against him. For a moment, wild, desperate hope filled Kahlan that somehow the wound was not as serious as it had first appeared. Then Cara stumbled and fell. Kahlan could see the blood glistening on Cara’s lips, could see the stain, darker than Cara’s leathers, spreading across Cara’s chest. Kahlan searched frantically for someone to call out to, someone who would help the Mord’Sith, even as she could not. She located Zedd, but even as she spotted the wizard, he was cornered by two Mord’Sith, and then knocked to the ground by a sharp blow to the back of his head. The wizard lay pale and motionless on the stone floor. Whether he was unconscious or dead she had no way of knowing. Panic was building in her throat. Everywhere Kahlan looked her men were being overwhelmed by Prentax’s forces.  
  
A cry was ripped from her mouth as her eyes turned back to Cara. Kahlan tried futilely to yank her arms from her captors, straining with all her might to wrest her hands from them. Across the hall, head drooping, the Mord’Sith was on her knees. Blood had soaked through most of the upper half of her leathers, yet at Kahlan’s cry Cara’s head rose unsteadily. Kahlan’s heart surged forward as jade eyes met her own. The Confessor gasped. For the first time since Kahlan had known Cara, she could read the emotions written clearly in the Mord’Sith’s eyes. Cara was offering Kahlan her heart as plainly as if she were saying the words out loud. Kahlan’s heart pounded out its own response. Then Cara’s eyes closed and she tumbled backwards. For a brief second Kahlan stared at the still figure of her lover, her mind refusing to believe what her eyes were seeing. Then she screamed.  
  
As the sounds of agony and fury tore their way out of her throat, Kahlan felt the sudden rush of her magic rising in her. This was not the controlled magic of Confession, but something much darker and more primal. Kahlan had felt this magic before, and now, in her despair and anger, she welcomed it. Red washed over her vision. Her body began to shudder violently as the forces within her swelled menacingly inside of her veins. Her skin sizzled and her joints popped as the magic raced through her limbs. The power felt as if it would tear her apart, but she knew it would not. With it she would be strong. With it she would make them all pay.  
  
“What’s going on?” shouted one of the guards restraining her.  
  
“I don’t know,” yelled another as he tightened his grip on her arm.  
  
“The Spirits save us, it’s the Blood Rage!” cried a third as he released his grasp in terror.  
  
“You fool, don’t let her go. Someone get the Rada’Han!” shouted the last.  
  
But it was too late for them. Kahlan screamed again as the Con Dar took hold of her. Blue-silver lightning arced across her skin, blasting her captors away from her. She raised both hands, but it was an unnecessary gesture. Unbidden, the power of Confession rolled off of her in waves, swells in a storm, each bigger than the last. Racing out from her, the magic passed through every person in the Great Hall, Home Guard and traitor alike. The palpable force of her fury was so strong that many of the soldiers stumbled as it slammed into them. Then one after another, each dropped to his knees.  
  
As one, they called out, “Command us, Confessor.”  
  
The Mother Confessor looked out at the sea of faces turned in reverence toward her. She viewed them all as if they were insects. The Mord’Sith still alive began to twitch and howl in pain as the deadly power of confession tore their souls apart. Kahlan felt no pity for them. She felt nothing but cold, distilled fury. Her lover was dead. Nothing else mattered.  
  
“Enough!” shouted Kahlan, her voice echoing off the walls. “You will revive Cara, or you will die in silence.”  
  
Instantly the Mord’Sith quieted, though their features were contorted in agony. As one, the Mord’Sith tried crawling to Cara’s still form, but even the enraged Mother Confessor could see from their tortured movements that they would die before ever making it. This only served to stoke Kahlan’s rage.  
  
“Help them!” she ordered. Men rushed forward to fulfill her command, scooping up the Mord’Sith in their arms. Cara’s body was lost amid the scramble of activity. Then the men stepped back. The Mord’Sith lay like a wreath around Cara – and every single one was plainly dead.  
  
Eventually, one man came forward toward Kahlan, visibly quaking with fear.  
  
“Mistress, the Mord’Sith failed,” he said breathlessly.  
  
The soldier wore the uniform of a D’Haran officer. He had been one of Prentax’s men and therefore as guilty as Prentax himself. Kahlan reached for the soldier’s own knife and bellowed her rage as she carelessly slashed his throat. She was to be robbed of the one chance to save Cara. The thought turned to ashes in her mind, blasted by the furnace of her bloodlust. Only vengeance was left to her.   
  
“Bring me Prentax.”  
  
Men leapt to their feet, and the wizard was dragged roughly forward, though he offered no resistance. The light of confession glowed in his eyes as much as it did in the others.   
  
“How may I serve you, Mother Confessor?” he said quietly, his yellow eyes brimming with enchanted love.

Her hand slack at her side, the knife dripping hot blood onto the cool stone floor, Kahlan contemplated the man standing before her. Each punishment, each torture she could devise for him seemed less than he deserved. Her body nearly hummed with her barely contained rage.   
  
As she scrutinized him, another soldier pushed forward through the crowd. Part of Kahlan’s mind vaguely recognized him as Theron Ridgewater, a lieutenant in the Home Guard. She thought she should feel regret at his confession – after all he did have a wife and two small children, and had done nothing but serve her loyally – but as her eyes shifted to him she felt nothing but the heat burning in the pit of her stomach.   
  
“Confessor, there is something-“  
  
“You will not interrupt me until I am done with Prentax,” she cut him off.  
  
“But-“  
  
A sharp glance from her silenced him.  
  
Kahlan returned her attention to the wizard standing before her. When she spoke her voice was cold and brittle. “You have taken everything from me – my city, my friends, and, most importantly, my love.”  
  
Her voice cracked at this point. A thin trickle of grief began to work its way through her fury, but she shoved it away from her. She pulled the Con Dar around her like armor. While its magic swirled and throbbed in her veins she would not feel the pain that was sure to come.  
  
“Mistress, I am sorry!” Prentax cried out.  
  
“Silence!” spat Kahlan, another wave of red sliding across her vision. Her blood pounded as the magic prickled and pulsed under her skin. The silver badger on her wrist began to glow, first a dull orange, then brightening to a piercing yellow-white light. She could have sworn that she saw it move, and the guardian’s words echoed in her mind. _Remember, the badger is the most dangerous when defending his home_. She dropped the knife and stroked the badger’s smooth back. Metallic fur rippled under her fingertips and the badger’s legs released their grasp on her arm. She held the animal in her palm. It was still metal, yet its eyes gleamed with awareness, somehow alive and not at the same time.  
  
Turning her eyes from the badger, she spoke again. “Where is the Heart Stone?”  
  
“It is here, Mistress,” replied Prentax, eagerly pointing at his chest. “I used my magic to place it close to my heart so that it would always be with me.”  
  
Kahlan felt the metal creature in her hand twitch. She knew what to do.  
  
The Mother Confessor picked up the badger by its back and slammed it, claws first, into Prentax’s chest. The wizard screamed in agony as the creature began to dig into his chest. He slammed his eyes shut, but Kahlan grabbed his jaw and yanked his head toward her.  
  
“Look at me!” she hissed.  
  
Yellow eyes stared into hers, horror and pain mixing in them. The wizard wailed as the badger burrowed even deeper, but he followed his mistress’s order, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. His legs trembled and gave out, forcing him to his knees, but she wrenched his head back so that he would still be forced to look at her.  
  
“Know that the pain you feel now is nothing compared to the pain you have caused,” she snarled at him.  
  
“Ye-yes..yes, M-m-mistress,” he stammered. “Forgive me.”  
  
Then he shrieked, his mouth gaping wide. There was a crunch and a flash of blinding blue light as the badger crushed the Heart Stone. The badger made one more lunge and the wizard jerked violently. Then the light faded from his eyes, but they did not close. They stared vacantly up at Kahlan. Even in death, Prentax obeyed his mistress.  
  
Kahlan let the wizard’s body fall back. It hit the ground with a sickening thud. She gazed at it, waiting for the sense of triumph that should accompany the vanquishing of an enemy. It didn’t come.  
  
Instead, she wondered who would be the next to die.


	11. Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kahlan and Cara deal with the aftermath of the battle and an uncertain future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who has made it this far. I can only hope you enjoy the conclusion.

As she watched Prentax’s feet jerk and spasm involuntarily, Kahlan thought that she should be feeling satisfaction, vindication, relief – anything but the still smoldering embers of the Con Dar and the hollow, empty chasm that yawned threateningly just beyond the magic. Her jaw worked silently behind tightly sealed lips, clamping and unclamping, over and over again. She had her vengeance, her justice, yet she found no solace in it. Coldly, almost dispassionately, she scanned the room for her next target. Her eyes skated past Cara’s body, refusing to acknowledge it lying there. To do so would be to accept the reality. She was not ready for it, if she ever would be. The Blood Rage boiling inside her was preferable to what she knew must come next. A part of her mind recalled whispers she had heard about Confessors who had lost themselves in the Con Dar, going mad with rage and blood lust. At the time, it had seemed a terrible fate. Now, she wondered if it would be such a cruel thing after all, to disappear into the fiery storm and let her soul be blasted away until there was nothing left to feel.  
  
Without much thought, Kahlan stepped over the now still form of Prentax and advanced on the next D’Haran in her line of sight. She could order him to die, and he would do it instantly, but she wanted to feel her hands around his windpipe, slowly crushing the life from him. The soldier stood waiting for her, eyes glistening with the love of the confessed.  
  
Before she could touch him, though, Theron Ridgewater thrust himself forward, as if he could no longer contain himself. “Mother Confessor, please – Mistress Cara is not dead!”  
  
Kahlan froze at his words. She spun on him, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic, and yanking him toward her.  
  
“What did you say?” she demanded, her voice a menacing hiss.  
  
“I said Mistress Cara is alive. She is gravely injured, but she still lives.”  
  
Theron’s words were like a punch to the gut. Suddenly, Kahlan was dizzy and breathless with the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. For a moment, the Blood Rage fought for control, but hope, fear, and love together forced it back. The Con Dar ebbed from her as swiftly as it had come, leaving her weak and disoriented. One thought seared her brain. _Cara is alive_.   
  
Ignoring her trembling muscles and the ache in her bones – the aftermath of the Con Dar – Kahlan launched herself forward, covering the distance to Cara in a few paces. Dropping to her knees at the Mord’Sith’s side, she could see the truth of Theron’s words for herself. The Confessor watched as Cara’s chest barely rose and fell. The dagger had punctured high on the left side of Cara’s chest above her breast, missing her heart. Though a wave of relief washed through Kahlan, worry followed close behind, clutching at her. As Cara inhaled and exhaled, a sickening, sucking gurgle issued from the wound. The Mord’Sith’s face was gray and ashen, her eyes closed. Kahlan placed a hand on her lover’s cheek and the skin beneath her fingers was slick with cold, clammy sweat. Kahlan’s chest constricted with panic.  
  
“I’ve seen this on the battlefield before, my Lady,” said Theron from behind her. “If she doesn’t drown in her own blood, the lung fever will kill her. Better that she had died a quick death.”  
  
“Don’t say that!” yelled Kahlan, her voice cracking. Fear ran like ice in her veins. “Get Zedd. He will heal her.”  
  
Theron scampered off at her orders. Kahlan returned her attention to the motionless Mord’Sith. Grasping one of Cara’s hands in her own, she leaned low over the Mord’Sith, her face barely a hand’s span from Cara’s face.  
  
“Cara,” she whispered, her voice a low plea. “Please, Cara, open your eyes.”  
  
Cara’s eyelids fluttered, but remained closed. The gloved hand was limp in Kahlan’s grip.  
  
“Cara, don’t you dare leave me. You don’t get to go. I need you here with me. Now, open your eyes.” Kahlan’s voice was desperate, but it held a determined, forceful edge.  
  
Again the Mord’Sith’s eyelids moved, but this time, they slowly opened. At first Cara didn’t seem to be aware of Kahlan, her gaze unfocused, but gradually the emerald eyes turned and fixed themselves on the Confessor’s face. Kahlan stared, transfixed by the raw, naked emotion greeting her. Just as it had been when their eyes had met across the room, Cara’s mask was completely stripped away, leaving nothing but Cara’s love burning bright in her eyes.  
  
Then the Mord’Sith tried to speak. Flecks of blood speckled her lips as she mouthed more than said, “Kah-lan…”  
  
Tears sprang to Kahlan’s eyes, and a few escaped, tracing wet, winding paths down her cheeks. “Shh. Don’t try to talk. The knife hit one of your lungs. I just need you to hold on until Zedd gets here.”  
  
Cara squeezed her hand in understanding. With her free hand, Kahlan ran her fingers through Cara’s hair in long, soothing strokes. Suddenly, a sharp rattle emanated from Cara’s throat and the Mord’Sith squeezed her eyes shut in obvious pain. The fingers in Kahlan’s hand clenched sharply, crushing her own fingers.  
  
“Hold on, Cara!” urged Kahlan, even as terror consumed her. She struggled against it, fighting to think clearly. She bellowed, “Ridgewater, where is Zedd?!”  
  
The lieutenant returned swiftly to Kahlan’s side. “The wizard is still unconscious, Mother Confessor. It was a hard blow that he took to his head. We’re trying to wake him, but so far no luck.”  
  
“I don’t care if you have to sell your soul to the Keeper himself to do it, just get him conscious,” she barked ferociously, her panic clouding her reason.  
  
“Yes, Mother Confessor!” he responded as he leapt to his feet and once again hurried off.  
  
Another convulsion of pain wracked Cara’s body, her back arching off the ground, her limbs stiff. Her mouth hung open, each intake of breath sounded strangled, each exhale a low hiss. The grotesque bubbling from her chest grew louder. Kahlan realized that Cara was not getting enough air. Blood from the Mord’Sith’s wound must be suffocating her. The Confessor’s eyes raked over Cara’s body as she searched for something to do. Dread and bile climbed up the back of Kahlan’s throat.  
  
“Fight, Cara. Please, fight,” she begged the Mord’Sith. Cara’s eyes flew open again. Agony and love mixed in the jade orbs, but behind them was a peace that Kahlan had never seen before in the Mord’Sith’s eyes.  
  
“No, Cara. You can’t die. I already thought I lost you once, I can’t do it again,” cried Kahlan, tears of helplessness and fear pouring out unchecked. “You need to live.”  
  
Cara’s eyes slipped closed. Her breaths were shallower and weaker than ever, each coming slower than the last. The Mord’Sith’s grip on Kahlan’s hand slackened.  
  
“NO!” wailed Kahlan. She bent lower over Cara. Cradling Cara’s head in her hands, she placed her lips gently on Cara’s forehead and began to whisper. “Don’t you leave me, Cara Mason, don’t you leave me…”  
  
So faint was the flutter at Kahlan’s neck that she almost didn’t feel it. Then it came a second time – the sensation of soft wings beating gently against her skin. At first, Kahlan couldn’t bring herself to care, so intent was she on the dying Mord’Sith, but when it happened a third time, she dared not ignore it. Dazed and uncomprehending, Kahlan sat back on her heels, searching for the source. Only after a moment did she notice the tiny swallow pendant stirring on its chain. The recollection of the guardian’s words slowly drifted to the surface of her memory. _My second gift is the swallow, master of the air. He will quicken the wind when nothing else can._  
  
The wind…the air… _the breath_!   
  
Tearing the chain from her throat, Kahlan held the swallow in the palm of her hand. The small bird burst from her hand in a flurry of feathers, growing larger and more life-like with each stroke of its wings. It rose in the air, spiraling higher and higher over Kahlan and Cara. Kahlan traced its path with her eyes, watching as it reached the apex of the Great Hall’s sweeping ceiling. Then, when it could go no farther, it stooped, folding its slender wings to its body and dropping straight for the ground. As it plummeted downward, its colors faded until it was no more than a translucent outline, an impression of a swallow carved out of the air itself. With a sudden rushing roar, like the sound of a fierce wind tearing down a mountain ravine, the swallow dove straight into Cara’s mouth.  
  
The Mord’Sith’s back arched farther than it had before, her head almost leaving the ground. Cara inhaled a full, deep breath, followed by another. She slumped back onto the ground. She coughed, as if clearing her throat, and continued to breathe deeply. Kahlan nearly laughed as her tears of fear and grief turned into those of joy. As she watched, the wound in Cara’s chest mended, leaving nothing but a thin, red line to show for it. Kahlan bowed low over Cara, covering the Mord’Sith’s face with kisses and wiping the blood from Cara’s lips and chin. Cara remained unconscious during Kahlan’s ministrations, but each breath came strong and steady now. With every new inhalation, Kahlan’s heart grew lighter and lighter until she thought it might soar like the swallow had only moments before. Gently she maneuvered Cara until the Mord’Sith’s head rested in her lap. Kahlan closed her eyes, her hand on Cara’s chest, enjoying each precious rise and fall.  
  
Several minutes passed before Kahlan became aware of the sounds of people around her. Opening her eyes she took in the sight of more than two dozen soldiers gathered around her and Cara. A twinge of regret for the Home Guard she had confessed passed through her, though part of her knew it had been beyond her control. The crowd parted and Zedd tottered unsteadily toward them, leaning heavily on Theron.  
  
“I’m here, Kahlan,” said the old wizard, concern written plainly across his face.  
  
“She’s all right, Zedd. The guardian’s gift saved her,” she replied, giving him a soft smile.

Zedd eased himself onto the ground beside them with a groan. Muttering a quiet incantation, he swept his hand over his own head.  
  
“Ah, much better. I hadn’t wanted to do that in case Cara’s injuries needed all of my magic,” he explained.  
  
“Thank you, Zedd.”  
  
“Don’t thank me. The guardian did all the work. I take it you went into the Con Dar while I was knocked out? When you saw Cara in danger?”  
  
Kahlan nodded.  
  
“I suppose I should thank the Spirits I was unconscious then. Otherwise, I would have been confessed, too. And Prentax?”  
  
“Dead.” Kahlan held up her left wrist, now bare. “Another of the guardian’s gifts. The badger destroyed the Heart Stone.”  
  
“Amazing.”  
  
Kahlan felt Cara stir. Glancing down she saw the Mord’Sith staring back up at her. Kahlan beamed at her.

Cara cleared her throat and her voice was low and rough when she spoke. “Is it over?”  
  
Kahlan hesitated a moment. The doors of the Great Hall burst open. Dennee strode in, followed by Belle, the limping blacksmith supported by the clerk, Merry. More than a dozen resistance fighters filed in after them, their gruff faces turned boisterous with the taste of victory. As she surveyed her friends, her family, and her troops, the Mother Confessor smiled. As her gaze returned to Cara, her grin widened, and she replied, “No. It’s just beginning.”   
  
***  
  
The dagger stuck in the wood with a dull _thunk_ , the hilt vibrating from the impact. Merry frowned. Belle smiled.  
  
“Good try!” declared the blacksmith.  
  
“But it’s a hands width from the bull’s eye,” said the clerk grumpily.  
  
“Which means it’s a closer than the last one, doesn’t it?” replied Belle good-naturedly. She wanted Merry to stop being so hard on herself. It was only yesterday that Alric had shown the red-head how to throw the daggers for the first time. Ever since the battle, it seemed like the clerk spent every spare moment that wasn’t consumed by the vast rebuilding efforts practicing with her knives. Belle could scarcely get a moment alone with Merry now that the Mother Confessor had appointed the red-head as chief clerk. “And Alric tells me that you’ve been learning incredibly fast in hand to hand training.”  
  
Merry shook her head in frustration as she strode forward to retrieve her daggers from the man-sized target. She yanked them out with unnecessary force and stomped back to the line she’d drawn in the earth with a stick. Before she could turn to resume her practice, Belle grabbed her wrists, and gently forced the clerk to face her. With quiet care, the blacksmith freed the blades from Merry’s grip and placed them in the sheaths at Merry’s belt. Refusing to meet Belle’s eyes, the clerk’s expression was closed and angry, but she offered no resistance to the blacksmith’s actions. Belle took both of Merry’s hands in her own, rubbing her thumbs over the tops in gentle caresses.  
  
“Merry, what’s really going on?” asked Belle softly. “You’ve barely spoken to me at all since the battle. I miss you. I want to see you.”  
  
Merry grimaced, then sighed. “I’ve never been in a battle before. I mean, I was here when Darken Rahl took the city, but I wasn’t actually fighting. Being in the fight, it scared me, Belle…more than I would have ever believed. I don’t ever want to be that scared again.”  
  
“Oh, Merry, I was frightened, too. I don’t think that ever goes away. Well, maybe for some, like Cara and the Mother Confessor, but they’ve fought so much, for almost their whole lives. I don’t ever want to fight that much. I don’t ever want to get to the point where I stop being scared,” replied Belle, squeezing Merry’s hands a little tighter. “Is that what this is about? You think if you learn to handle a weapon, you won’t be afraid?”  
  
Merry shrugged. “Maybe, a little. It’s foolish, I know.”  
  
“No, it’s not. But I can tell you, Cara trained me for weeks before Prentax first attacked, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to run in the opposite direction. Oh, don’t get me wrong, once I was in the thick of it, the training helped. But I was quaking in my boots the whole time.”  
  
The clerk finally looked up at Belle, and the blacksmith could see that the clerk’s hazel eyes were shadowed with worry. “You scared me a little, too, Belle. During the battle.”  
  
“What, why?” asked Belle hurriedly. While Dennee had slain most of the soldiers that the three women had encountered, Belle knew that a few had died under her axe. She was not proud of it, but she couldn’t quite feel sorry for it, either. Could that be what Merry was talking about?  
  
“You just jumped. Like it was nothing, like you didn’t even care that you might die. And then that dragon came over the wall, and I thought…I thought…” Merry’s hazel eyes filled with tears.  
  
Belle nearly sighed in relief as she pulled Merry into her arms, engulfing her in an embrace. The blacksmith rested her chin on the top of Merry’s head. “Every day while I was in the smithy, making the fireshots for Prentax, you were out there, putting yourself at risk, for me, for Cara, for Aydindril. If Prentax had caught you, he would have killed you without a second thought. I wondered every day if you were going to be safe.”  
  
“That’s not the same,” Merry started to argue, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric of Belle’s shirt. “It was the right thing to do.”  
  
“It’s exactly the same thing. What does it matter that you used your wits as your weapon and I used and axe and a fireshot? We both did what we knew we had to do. I’m sorry that it worried you, but, Merry, I’m not a fool. I’m not going to throw myself in harm’s way every time a fight comes along. I’ve had more adventure than I care to recall. I want nothing more than to go back to living the quiet life of a blacksmith. Please, believe me.”  
  
“I believe you.” Merry leaned back, still supported by Belle’s arms. The tears had dried, but she had a strange look on her face when she said, “Alric told me you were done melting down all of the fireshots, along with destroying all the prototypes and the powder.”  
  
“Yes, thank the Spirits. I don’t ever want to hear of one of those blasted things again!” replied Belle earnestly.  
  
“Well, that’s it then?” Merry’s eyes dropped again. The clerk picked nervously at a seam on Belle’s vest. “You can go home now, right?”  
  
Belle smiled down at Merry. “I guess Alric didn’t tell you that I accepted a permanent post with the master of the forge, did he?”  
  
“You did what?” questioned Merry, her eyes shooting back to Belle’s face, confusion written across her features, as if Belle’s statement had not made sense to her.  
  
“I’m staying here,” said Belle.  
  
“Why?” asked Merry, followed by a soft “oh” just before Belle bent down to capture her mouth in a tender kiss. Holding the clerk tight against her, the blacksmith congratulated herself on finally having the courage to do what she should have done ages ago. She supposed if she could face wizards and dragons and enemy soldiers, she should be brave enough to kiss one woman. By the way Merry’s lips moved under her own, she knew that her risk had paid off. It didn’t matter that her hands were shaking and her heart fluttered in her chest.  
  
When they finally broke the kiss, Merry smiled up at her and placed a small hand on her cheek. “You’re blushing again, blacksmith.”  
  
“Sorry,” mumbled Belle, feeling the flush creep even higher.  
  
“Don’t be. I love the way you look when you blush,” replied Merry, and she pulled the blacksmith in for another kiss.  
  
***  
  
“Concentrate, Kahlan.”  
  
Cara’s gloved hand, resting on the arm of the chair in which she sat, twitched. Then it rose shakily, wavering in the air before coming to rest on Cara’s breast. It gave the breast a brief squeeze. Cara directed a sour look at the Lady Rahl.  
  
“Are you trying to torture me?” said Cara, frowning. “First you tell me that I’m not allowed to touch you, because, according to you, I am still recuperating, but when I tell you to use the blood bond to move my hand, this is what you choose to do?”  
  
Across the room, Kahlan blushed. “I couldn’t think of what else to do. It’s better than making you slap yourself.”  
  
“I’ll give you marks for dexterity, but a slap would have shown that you have more control, more power.”  
  
Suddenly, Cara’s hand flew at her face and she jerked back, barely avoiding it. Her eyes narrowed. Growling, she said, “Impressive.”  
  
For a moment, the Confessor’s eyes widened, as if she could not believe her own audacity. Then she gave Cara a mischievous smile. Kahlan crossed the chamber and sank to her knees in front of Cara. “I’ve had a good teacher.”  
  
The Mord’Sith leaned forward and Kahlan met her halfway, their lips coming together in a gentle kiss. When they broke apart, Kahlan asked, “Does it ever worry you – the amount of control I’m learning to exert?”  
  
“No,” replied Cara without hesitation. “I trust you, Kahlan. You would never hurt me with the bond. And you are a wise leader. You would not invoke the bond unless it was absolutely necessary.”  
  
“But in the Con Dar, I didn’t care who I hurt,” said Kahlan quietly.  
  
“You say that, yet the only ones dead by your hand are Prentax and one of his men. Their sentence would have been death either way.” Cara placed two fingers on Kahlan’s lips when the Confessor looked as if she might interrupt. “It’s true that you confessed many people. But that was the Con Dar, not you. The deaths of the Mord’Sith were not your fault either – you don’t have a say in what confession does to Mord’Sith. You could have ordered everyone in that room to die, and they would have done it instantly and with a smile on their faces. But you didn’t, and they live. You have given those that deserve it as much of a second chance as you can by ordering them back to their families and telling them to live as they did before.”  
  
Kahlan sighed. Cara could tell that the Confessor was not completely convinced. She supposed it was the weight of having such power, but Cara knew that if anyone could handle the responsibility it was Kahlan. Just as Cara knew she would do anything to help Kahlan bear that burden. Right now, though, a change in subject seemed to be the best approach.  
  
“I’ve decided that once I’m fit to ride, I would like to visit Stowecroft and see Grace,” said Cara. She didn’t bother mentioning that she thought she was fit to ride now – that argument had already been had one too many times. “Seeing you and Dennee these last few days has made me think that perhaps I should see my sister more often.”  
  
“That’s a wonderful idea, Cara,” replied Kahlan, smiling. The smile slowly faded, replaced with a pensive expression. “I’ll admit, I have grown used to having Dennee around again. I will miss her when she goes.”  
  
“Does she leave because of me?” asked Cara softly. She could not help but worry that Dennee’s feelings toward her still continued to push the sisters apart.  
  
Kahlan shook her head, a wistful smile crossing her face. “No. Not this time. She even told me that she understands my choice, now. But she’s made a life for herself and her son in Galea. I don’t think that she has any desire to be immersed in the politics of Aydindril again, and I can’t say that I blame her. She has promised that she will visit though.”  
  
“That is good.” Cara shifted uncomfortably. “And what of our favorite blacksmith? Will she return home as well?”  
  
Kahlan laughed at this. Cara lifted an eyebrow. The Confessor answered, ”I don’t think you could pry Belle out of Aydindril if you tried. She’s far too smitten with my new chief clerk. Of course, the master of the forge is thrilled to keep her on. He says that she should start her own shop, but she seems content for the moment.”  
  
“I hear Merry is becoming quite adept with her daggers,” said Cara casually. Kahlan’s look of surprise brought a smile to Cara. “I may have been practically confined to our bed chambers this last week, but I still have my sources.”  
  
After a moment, Kahlan said, “Alric.”  
  
“Very good, Confessor,” Cara said playfully, smirking. “I will see to it that Belle continues with her training as well - once you deem me able, of course.”  
  
The smirk on Cara’s face was pushed aside as Kahlan insinuated herself onto Cara’s lap. This time the kiss was deeper and longer. Cara sucked on Kahlan’s lip and explored the Confessor’s mouth with her tongue. She lingered over the kiss, savoring the taste of her lover. A hot trickle of passion began to flow in her belly before Kahlan finally pulled away. Cara stared up into the sapphire eyes that seemed to claim her, possess her, make her their own. She swallowed as she watched Kahlan’s eyes darken with desire.  
  
“I love you,” said Cara. The words still felt strange in her mouth, but she had made a point of saying them to Kahlan every day since she had awoken in their bed chambers nearly a week ago. From what Kahlan had told her, she had languished somewhere between sleep and true unconsciousness for nearly four days after the battle. And from what she could weasel out of Mistress Sanderholt, who had insisted on serving Cara her food personally once the Mord’Sith was awake, Kahlan had been at Cara’s side as often as possible during that time, even as the Mother Confessor dealt with the reconstruction of Aydindril, the trials of Prentax’s men and Councilor Timmick, and the recruitment of new soldiers to refill the depleted ranks of the Home Guard.   
  
Upon regaining consciousness, Cara had insisted that she was perfectly capable of resuming her duties, but her traitorous lungs had chosen that moment to let loose a cough that sounded like a goose being strangled. Apparently, although the swallow had saved her life, it could not bring her to full health again. No amount of arguing after that had dissuaded Kahlan from ordering Cara to rest until both Zedd and the Lady Rahl cleared her. Cara had been climbing the walls with boredom, until she had finally threatened Alric into disobeying the Mother Confessor by delivering her daily reports on the palace happenings.   
  
Even then, she had been barely able to contain herself during the tedium of recovery – except when Kahlan was there. Then it was as if the world outside ceased to exist. Kahlan had refused to allow anything more strenuous than a passionate kiss, but it didn’t matter to Cara. She now knew with unshakable certainty that her place was by Kahlan’s side, even if it was doing something as simple as sharing silence in the same room, and she intended to let the Confessor know it every chance she got.  
  
“I love you,” she repeated, wrapping her arms around Kahlan’s waist and tugging the Confessor more securely onto her lap. Kahlan’s hand tangled in her hair, drawing her into a third kiss. The Confessor’s mouth was hot and hungry, devouring Cara’s and leaving nothing but more want in its wake. Blindly, her senses filled with Kahlan’s lips on hers and Kahlan’s weight pressing into her thighs, Cara began tugging at her gloves. The urgent need to feel Kahlan without the deadening barrier of leather between them overwhelmed her.  
  
Kahlan must have felt her shift because the Confessor broke off the kiss and drew Cara’s hands into her lap. With slow tenderness, Kahlan removed Cara’s gloves, lifting each hand to her mouth and kissing the palm. The Confessor traced lines over the backs of Cara’s hands and along the length of her fingers, as if memorizing them through touch. When Kahlan’s eyes met hers again, Cara marveled at how Kahlan moved seamlessly from passion to gentleness and back again.  
  
“Cara, I have asked almost everything of you and you have given it without question. But there are two more requests that I would make of you now,” said Kahlan quietly, almost solemnly.  
  
“Name them,” Cara said, wondering what could subdue Kahlan in such a way.  
  
“I want you to be my mate – in every way. I want to declare it formally, before the Council. I am sick of the whispers and allegations, the judgments about whom I choose to share my bed and my love. Let them challenge the Mother Confessor openly if they are feeling brave enough.” Kahlan paused.  
  
Cara smiled broadly, relishing the image of Kahlan ‘explaining’ her choice of mate to a wayward Councilor. She almost hoped there would be one among the Council foolish enough to object. “I would not have it any other way. And the second question?”  
  
Kahlan took a deep breath. “I also want you to help me raise a family,” said Kahlan, her blue eyes boring into Cara’s.  
  
Cara’s heart ached with a sudden, sharp pain. She had accepted that Kahlan must inevitably bear children if the line of Confessors was to be unbroken. Yet, knowing that it would mean she would have to share Kahlan, even if only for a night, hurt. Looking into Kahlan’s face though, Cara knew there was nothing that she would deny the Confessor.  
  
“Kahlan, I would be honored to be your mate and help care for your children. Who have you chosen to be the father?” answered Cara steadily, even as her heart clenched in her chest.  
  
“Cara, you are the only person with whom I will share my bed,” said Kahlan firmly.  
  
“Kahlan, that’s impossible. It’s a basic fact that I don’t have the necessary requirements to help you conceive,” Cara said, half amused and half perplexed.  
  
“It’s possible with this,” replied Kahlan. The Confessor held up a small, glass vial, a rabbit etched into its side. Cara took it from her, watching the iridescent liquid swirl in the vial.  
  
“What is it?” asked the Mord’Sith.  
  
“The guardian’s last gift. She said that the rabbit would be the bringer of new life, to replace that which has been lost. I discussed it with Zedd and he agreed that the guardian likely meant that this is a way for me to have a child, or children – to replace the Confessor line. I’m not sure if I even need a mate for it to work, but I couldn’t bear thinking about taking it if you weren’t with me.”  
  
“Kahlan, are you sure?”  
  
“That it will work? Not entirely, but then again I don’t underestimate the guardian’s powers. She gave me the tool that destroyed the Heart Stone, and she knew enough to send a way for me to save you. Every time I think about it, I grow more certain that this is what the last gift is meant for.”  
  
“No, Kahlan, I mean are you sure that you wish for me to raise a child with you? As you well know, I did not exactly have an ideal childhood. I don’t know that I am prepared…that I would be an adequate parent.” Cara frowned. Somehow, though Kahlan being a mother was always an obvious future, she had never considered the same for herself. Then again, it never occurred to her that she could be loved by someone like Kahlan either, until it happened.  
  
“I didn’t have an ‘ideal childhood’ either, Cara. And neither will our daughter. She will be a Confessor and heir to the First Chair. You know better than anyone, save me, what that means, what dangers and challenges she will face. I can think of no one else who would love, teach, and protect my child, our child, more carefully and more diligently than you. And for the hundredth time, the thousandth time, I love you and I trust you. Will you do this with me, Cara?”  
  
Cara felt the hot prick of tears behind her eyes at Kahlan’s words, but she covered them up by clearing her throat. Her voice was oddly hoarse when she said, “I would love nothing more than to begin a family with you, Kahlan Amnell.”  
  
***  
  
Wordlessly, they moved across the bed chamber together, Kahlan leading Cara by the hand. Kahlan soaked up the sensation of Cara’s hand holding hers, so gentle even though Kahlan knew how strong it could be, the warm skin callused in places, soft in others. Kahlan stopped a few paces from the bed, allowing Cara’s hand to slide out of her grasp. She looked down at the vial between her fingers and her hands shook. She had been so worried about how Cara would react, she realized now that she had never asked herself if she was ready for this. The thought of conceiving a child was both terrifying and exhilarating.  
  
At the sound of Cara shifting, the Confessor glanced up. Afternoon sunshine poured in the windows, catching Cara’s blonde hair and turning her eyes into emerald flames. Kahlan’s breath caught. The Mord’Sith’s hands closed and opened at her sides and Cara swallowed. Kahlan suddenly realized that the Mord’Sith was nervous too. As if reading her mind, Cara closed the distance between them and wrapped her hands around Kahlan’s, enclosing the vial.  
  
“You will be a wonderful mother, Kahlan,” said Cara quietly, “but we do not need to rush.”

  
The reassurance in Cara’s voice, the knowledge that they could wait, made Kahlan instantly certain that this was what she wanted. She gave Cara a smile.  
  
“I am ready.”  
  
Kahlan eased her hands from Cara, who watched her intently. With steadier fingers, Kahlan uncorked the vial and glanced back at Cara. Cara simply nodded. Giving the Mord’Sith a half smile, Kahlan lifted the small bottle to her lips and tilted her head back. The liquid ran thick and warm down her throat. It tasted rich, sweet, almost like wild honey. It settled in a pool of heat in her belly, then slowly dissipated. Kahlan waited – and then frowned.  
  
“Kahlan, are you alright?” asked Cara, her brows knitting together in concern.  
  
“Yes.” Kahlan hesitated. “I guess I expected it to feel different.”  
  
“Different how?”  
  
“I just feel – normal,” answered the Confessor, a hint of disappointment seeping through her.   
  
Cara must have noticed, because she reached for Kahlan. The Mord’Sith pulled her into a soft kiss that somehow seemed more intimate than all of the passionate kisses they had shared before. Kahlan felt Cara’s hands tremble where they touched her. In their past love-making, Cara had been many things - gentle, wild, aggressive, attentive, demanding – but, now, in this kiss, there was vulnerability in the Mord’Sith that Kahlan had never sensed before.   
  
Cara broke the kiss, whispering in a low rough voice, “It will work, Kahlan. And if it doesn’t we’ll find another way, and another, until we succeed.”  
  
As she offered Kahlan her certainty, Cara’s eyes were as unguarded as they had been in the Great Hall weeks ago. Even fully clothed, it was as if Cara was stripped down, baring a battered soul that somehow still had the capacity to love. It wasn’t the glow of the confessed, or the spark of young love, or even the direct, open love that Richard had once given to Kahlan. It was love that had been fought for, wrestled from the arms of doubt and protected from the icy fingers of despair and shame. Cara had won her love against many odds and it burned hot and strong. Kahlan’s misgivings melted in the face of those flames. Fierce, protective love surged through Kahlan’s chest, leaving her breathless. Desire curled thick and hot in her belly.  
  
Lunging forward, Kahlan closed the distance between them. Their mouths crashed together. The Confessor’s fingers tangled in the laces of Cara’s leathers, fumbling at the knots. She needed to be closer to Cara, to feel her lover’s skin on her own. Suddenly even the thin barriers of cloth and leather became unbearable. The Mord’Sith seemed to agree and their clothes ended up discarded and forgotten in a pile at the foot of the bed.  
  
As their lips danced and wrestled, the Confessor’s hands roved over Cara’s body, mapping out the territory that she had explored so many times before. As her fingertips grazed Cara’s chest, they froze over the newest scar on her lover’s body. She leaned back, taking in the thin red line, tracing it with her finger. Her eyes slid to the larger, jagged scar on Cara’s side, stark white against amber skin. Kahlan knew that Cara had faced danger before, a great deal of it at the Confessor’s side. She knew that Cara had even died before. Yet these two scars, harsh reminders of what might have been, haunted Kahlan in a way that none of those other things could. A tremor of cold revulsion shook Kahlan’s body. Then the Confessor shook her head angrily. Fear had no place here. Her beautiful Mord’Sith was alive and right now there was nothing more important than that.  
  
Wrapping her arms tightly around Cara, Kahlan’s mouth found the blonde’s throat. She reveled in the feel of the strong pulse beating underneath her lips. Cara moaned in open appreciation of the attention. Kahlan forced the Mord’Sith back toward the bed until the edge of the mattress hit the back of Cara’s knees and she collapsed backward, pulling Kahlan down with her. Kahlan groaned as her body landed flush against her lover’s skin and Cara captured her mouth. The Confessor felt Cara’s fingers twist in her hair, refusing to let their lips part as they moved farther onto the bed.   
  
The nails raking her scalp, the hungry mouth devouring her own, the delicious friction of her skin over Cara’s all served to fan her passion until Kahlan thought she must be on fire. She whimpered as she released Cara’s lips, not wanting to, but needing air. Kahlan touched her forehead to Cara’s forehead, eyes closed, her short, sharp breaths mingling with the heat of Cara’s. Kahlan’s hands tugged feverishly on Cara’s hips, trying to press them even closer. Overwhelming sensations crackled along Kahlan’s nerves. The nearness of Cara, the memory of desperate emptiness when she thought she’d lost the Mord’Sith, and the excitement and worry for a future yet begun collided and mixed inside of her, creating a terrible, sweet ache in her chest. She couldn’t pull Cara close enough.  
  
“Cara, I need to touch you,” she whispered huskily.  
  
Cara gave a low chuckle. “You’re already touching me, Kahlan.”  
  
“Not enough. Not even close,” replied Kahlan, her voice gritty with her need. She lifted her head and opened her eyes. She found jade eyes studying her. “I need to have my mouth on you.”  
  
Cara’s eyes darkened with Kahlan’s words, the Mord’Sith’s own passion rising to the surface. “But I-“  
  
The Confessor gave Cara an impish smile. “You’ll have your turn, but first I get to have you.”  
  
Not waiting for a reply, Kahlan pressed her mouth to Cara’s neck again, sucking and nipping. Cara’s body arched against her in response, encouraging her. The throaty sounds issuing from the Mord’Sith drove Kahlan on. Cara’s fingers dug into Kahlan’s shoulders as the Confessor lavished the Mord’Sith’s body with open mouthed kisses, her tongue tracing wandering patterns across Cara’s skin. Kahlan was nearly dizzy with desire as she settled between Cara’s legs, craving contact with her lover more than she ever thought possible.  
  
As her tongue slid through folds already slick with arousal, Kahlan moaned, the muscles in her stomach clenching. It was as if she tasted Cara for the first time. Her lover, her beautiful indomitable lover, alive and whole and here, despite everything. She savored the flavor and scent of Cara as her tongue lavished attention on the places she knew Cara enjoyed most. Her heart leapt into her throat as she entered Cara with her fingers, causing the Mord’Sith to gasp. The world fell away as Kahlan poured her love into Cara with her mouth and her fingers. She kept her eyes open, watching Cara’s body respond to her touch, not wanting to miss a single sigh or tremor. She needed this – to feel Cara, to know she was real, to draw her as close as possible and never let her go.   
  
Chest heaving, the Mord’Sith tensed and cried out as Kahlan’s rhythm brought her closer to the edge. Kahlan felt an answering tightness between her thighs. The Confessor’s tongue swirled in quicker, tighter circles over Cara’s swollen sex, her fingers pressed deeper. Kahlan placed her free hand on Cara’s stomach, feeling the strong muscles ripple under her palm. Knuckles white, the Mord’Sith’s hands clutched the blanket, twisting the fabric. Beads of sweat dotted Cara’s forehead. Kahlan heard her name whispered, the soft sound ripe and full with want. Emerald eyes held her own.  
  
 _Come for me_ , Kahlan thought silently, half-pleading, half-commanding. A few more strokes of her tongue and Cara’s hips bucked underneath her mouth. The Mord’Sith shouted Kahlan’s name as she came undone. Kahlan rode the waves of Cara’s pleasure, nearly swooning over the sensation of smooth muscles contracting around her fingers. She languidly lapped at Cara’s sex, prolonging her lover’s release, until trembling hands gently pushed her away. As she lifted her head, Kahlan was met with a blissful, satiated smile. The Confessor rose to hands and knees and straddled the Mord’Sith, peppering Cara’s face with tender kisses.   
  
Leaning in until her mouth barely brushed the rim of Cara’s ear, Kahlan whispered, “I love you, Cara.”  
  
Her words seemed to electrify the Mord’Sith. One moment Cara was laying there, her body limp under Kahlan, the next Cara launched herself up from the bed, gripping Kahlan’s hips with strong hands. Suddenly, the Confessor found herself rolled onto her back with Cara’s full lips on hers and Cara’s thigh pressed between her legs. Kahlan groaned from the contact, only to have the sound stolen by the Mord’Sith’s tongue claiming her mouth. Waves of heat washed through her body. Without warning, the warm tingle of her magic prickled along her skin. Kahlan flattened her hand on Cara’s chest and shoved the Mord’Sith back a few inches, a sound of frustration, part growl, part whine, escaping her throat.  
  
“Cara, be careful…my magic,” Kahlan said plaintively.  
  
Cara kissed her again, gently this time, before responding. “You don’t have to be afraid.”  
  
Kahlan felt a surge of exasperation. “We’ve been over this a hundred times, Cara. The Rada’Han-“  
  
“-is unnecessary,” interrupted Cara, her tone quiet but firm. The implacable confidence in the Mord’Sith’s voice gave Kahlan pause. She raised an eyebrow in question.  
  
“When you entered the Con Dar, I felt it, Kahlan. After I fell, I heard you scream, and then I felt your magic pass through the room. I did not lose consciousness until a few moments after.”  
  
Kahlan’s eyes went wide as her heart began a riotous tattoo in her chest. Scarcely making a sound, she whispered, “You’re immune to my power of confession.”  
  
Cara smiled smugly. “It would seem so.”  
  
Kahlan stared at Cara, taking in the familiar, prideful expression she had seen so many times before, yet which now failed to mask the earnestness in Cara’s eyes. Kahlan was stunned. Not one, but two lovers immune to confession – had any Confessor in history ever been so fortunate? A broad, jubilant smile burst out over Kahlan’s features. She released a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the Creator. Cara peered at her intently and Kahlan felt the gaze like a hot hand over her skin.  
  
“May I touch you now?” Cara asked, her voice playful and seductive, yet there was a note of need in it.

Kahlan laughed, her heart rising in joy even as she was reminded of the tight knot of desire in her belly. “You may.”   
  
The Mord’Sith lowered her head again, her mouth settling on Kahlan’s for the briefest of moments before it traveled across her jaw to her ear. Cara’s full lips sucked on her ear lobe, then were replaced with teeth as Cara bit down on the soft flesh, stopping just shy of pain. Kahlan gasped. As the Mord’Sith trailed sharp teeth and soothing tongue down the column of her neck, she felt as if her insides were turning to liquid fire. When Cara’s mouth clamped onto the juncture between her shoulder and her neck, Kahlan cried out. She thought she might go mad if the Mord’Sith did not give her some relief soon. Her hands fastened around Cara’s upper arms, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. She heard Cara’s grunt of satisfaction.  
  
“I don’t think I can wait, Cara. Not today,” she managed to croak out, her voice cracking.  
  
Cara lifted her head and studied Kahlan. For a moment, the Confessor wondered how she must look to the Mord’Sith, with her love having stripped her down to nothing but this powerful, aching need inside her, consuming her. Then Cara nodded in understanding.  
  
The Mord’Sith eased herself to Kahlan’s side, leaving her leg draped over one of Kahlan’s. Sliding a hand underneath Kahlan’s shoulders, Cara drew Kahlan into a loose embrace. The fingers of Cara’s other hand stroked nimbly over Kahlan’s chest, her breasts, her stomach, leaving the Confessor shivering in anticipation. They hesitated for a moment at the edge of the hair at the apex of Kahlan’s thighs and Kahlan rolled her hips impatiently. She needed Cara’s hand on her almost as much as she’d needed to pleasure Cara only a few minutes before.  
  
Kahlan groaned loudly as Cara’s fingers found her center, swollen and wet. The Mord’Sith’s touch stoked the molten desire in Kahlan’s belly, and she writhed against Cara’s body. Sweet, tantalizing pressure expanded and grew at the base of her spine. She pressed closer to Cara as the Mord’Sith’s hand circled in a steady rhythm, burying her head into Cara’s shoulder, tucked under the Mord’Sith’s chin. Her breath came in ragged, hot puffs, her lips brushing the golden skin of Cara’s chest. Her own fingers dug into Cara’s hip.  
  
A shock of pleasure coursed through Kahlan as Cara slid inside her, the Mord’Sith’s thumb swirling over her clit. The cry trying to make its way past her lips tangled in the back of her throat as she bit down on Cara’s skin. She could feel Cara everywhere, beneath her skin, in her veins, in the thrumming of her heart. Never had she felt this connected to Cara before, and the sensation was overpowering. Her magic surged inside of her, demanding and forceful, and for one terrifying moment she thought that it would tear her and Cara both apart if she let it free. Then she heard Cara’s voice, soft and gentle above her.  
  
“Kahlan, look at me.”  
  
Kahlan shifted so that she could meet Cara’s eyes. Green eyes glowed with love and utter devotion as they locked onto her own. She felt Cara’s fingers curl inside her, felt her magic pulse in her bones, felt Cara’s arm curl protectively around her shoulder and pull her close. She heard Cara’s name being ripped from her mouth as her body went rigid with release. Her magic swirled in her eyes and burst through her skin, racing out in every direction. And all the while those green eyes held her, steadied her, comforted her, loved her.  
  
Cara’s hand stilled as Kahlan collapsed, boneless and breathless, into her lover’s embrace. As the magic of confession dissipated, the Confessor became aware of the subtle warmth of another magic settling in her belly. Unlike her own magic, which always came like a fierce winter storm, this power felt like a soft summer breeze, barely noticeable as it tickled and wove its way through her. As realization dawned on her, the fingers that still gripped Cara’s hip began to tremble.  
  
“Kahlan?” Cara asked, a note of concern in her voice.  
  
The shaking increased as the full wonder and joy of what they had done filled Kahlan’s mind. Cara’s hand cupped her cheek, and the Mord’Sith’s brow knit together in worry.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Kahlan lifted her hand from Cara’s hip and placed it on the Mord’Sith’s chest. She beamed at her lover, and watched as the lines of anxiety etched on Cara’s forehead softened. “I think the guardian’s magic may have already worked.”  
  
Cara’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth dropped open. Kahlan chuckled as the Mord’Sith stared at her wordlessly. A minute passed. Kahlan watched as the stunned look on Cara’s face transformed to a broad grin.  
  
Then her face took on a half-serious expression and there was an impish glint in the Mord’Sith’s eyes when she finally said, “I expected nothing less. However, I think we should continue what we were doing…just to be certain.”  
  
“Hmm…you do, do you?” asked Kahlan coyly, trying not to laugh at the mischief apparent in Cara’s expression.  
  
“Of course. I do like to be thorough.”  
  
“I see.” Kahlan tilted her chin so her lips were a mere whisper from Cara’s mouth. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t waste any more time.”  
  
The Confessor caught Cara’s lower lip between her teeth and the Mord’Sith groaned quietly. Cara’s eyes fluttered closed as Kahlan suckled on the plump flesh. A barely audible sound rumbled in the back of Cara’s throat, as if half-formed words were getting caught there. Letting go with a final swipe of her tongue, Kahlan peered at Cara. Slowly, the Mord’Sith’s eyes opened again.  
  
“I’m sorry,” said Kahlan playfully, “I didn’t hear that. What did you say?”  
  
Cara’s hand tangled in Kahlan’s hair at the base of her neck.  
  
“I said,” Cara began, her voice full of fierceness. “I said, ‘I love you.’”  
  
And with those simple, profound words, Cara swept Kahlan up into a kiss that made her forget anything she had been about to say.  
  
***  
  
The magic of confession crashed through Cara, buffeting her skin, twisting her insides, jangling her nerves. She watched in awe as the black tendrils curled and twisted in Kahlan’s eyes, subsuming the brilliant blue of the Confessor’s irises. Cara had experienced the power before, but this time it was different. The force of the Con Dar had been jagged, raw, and desolate, smelling of blood and lightning, tasting like metal and ash in Cara’s mouth. But this was something altogether new. Though the faint odor of ozone lingered, the air seemed fresh and clear, as if scrubbed clean by a spring rain. The terrible purity of Kahlan’s power – her love – swept everything away, save the roaring response of Cara’s own heart. Cara gulped down heaving breaths as the Confessor slumped against her.  
  
Then Kahlan was shaking and telling her things she could scarcely comprehend or believe – and she balked and joked and made smug remarks, while her mind spun about in a frenzied jumble of emotion. It took Kahlan’s mouth on hers to cut through the tumult. Like a clarion call rising above the fray of battle, the kiss reduced the world to one simple fact – she had found love. Cara knew that a future between a Confessor and a Mord’Sith would never be a certain thing – their lives would always be fraught with danger and risk, just as their past had been laced with struggle and loss. But being at Kahlan’s side had given that struggle a purpose, and now the promise of a new family only served to steel her nerves. Her heart swelled against her ribs.  
  
“I said…I said ‘I love you.’”  
  
Later, when the sky outside had darkened many hours prior, and their bodies gave out long before their passion, Kahlan slept contentedly on Cara’s chest. Cara relished the way Kahlan’s body draped loosely over her side, the way she could feel the rise and fall of the Confessor’s chest against her ribs. Her soft exhalations warmed Cara’s skin. Kahlan’s body covered the scar running down Cara’s side and Kahlan’s hand splayed over the red mark from Prentax’s blade, as if, even in sleep, the Confessor could protect Cara from wounds already inflicted. Cara smiled at the idea that there was someone, anyone, who would even think she needed defending, especially from the very wounds that had brought her to this place. For she knew now that she would never take them back if given the choice – they had given her too much.  
  
And so Cara remembers. She remembers that the Seeker’s death was in fact his last gift to her. She remembers that first kiss from Kahlan, something she had yearned for and despised herself for wanting, but which she had never truly expected. She remembers the way it felt the first time she made love with Kahlan – the Confessor’s nervous laughter and shy glances, the tremor in Cara’s own chest that she tried desperately to hide, the tentative touches turning into kiss-bruised mouths and blistering heat. She remembers telling herself over and over that she should leave Aydindril, leave Kahlan, before the darkness inside of her consumed the Confessor as well, yet she stayed, beholden to her Lady and the nameless emotion growing inside of her. She remembers the first time Kahlan spoke to her of love, how it thrilled and terrified her all at once. And she promises herself, of all the memories, painful or bright, she will carve out a special place for today – her new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Though I may speak some tongue of old  
> Or even spit out some holy word   
> I have no strength with which to speak  
> When you sit me down and see I’m weak 
> 
> So I had done wrong but you put me right   
> My judgment burned in the black of night   
> When I give less than I take  
> It is my fault my own mistake
> 
> We will run and scream  
> You will dance with me  
> We’ll fulfill our dreams and we’ll be free  
> We will be who we are  
> And they’ll heal our scars  
> Sadness will be far away”  
> -Learn Me Right, Mumford & Sons with Birdy


End file.
